Only Fools Hold onto Hope
by RivetingRosie4
Summary: "She hadn't realized—and she didn't think he had either—that he could be so gentle and pensive. He was so enthralled and mystified by their son—so clearly enraptured by love for him, that his jaw hung open and his voice was completely swept away. She knew right then. She was desperately in love with this man." Arthur's experiences w/ Eliza & Isaac. Mid-quel to "Disaster Road."
1. Part 1: Life Before Deer Head Ranch

***Hi there. :) This work is also on Archive of Our Own (Ao3), another fan fiction site that allows for inclusion of pictures and links in chapters. Whenever there have been pictures in a chapter that I couldn't include here but did so on Ao3, I include the link to Ao3 here so you can see it. You just need to copy and paste the link and remove spaces, since does not allow me to share links.***

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1886

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Eliza wiped her hands on her apron and stood upright from cleaning a spill on a table. Amidst the sparse lively noises of a weeknight at Peroni's saloon and with wet rag in hand, she eyed the bar counter and wondered if she could get there before Peroni barked at her to wipe it, as he usually did about this time. She decided to make a rush for it and swept around behind the counter in time to hear him grumble, "Eliza, get—" When he looked over, she was already there. She looked at him and smiled. He raised his eyebrows and continued about his business.

As she proceeded to wipe the counter, she noticed the single patron sitting at the bar, looking lonely and forlorn. He seemed young, but not too young. She guessed late twenties, maybe early thirties. He was brawny and sturdy, but lean, and the material of his shirt was taut around his shoulders as he hunched over his drink. Something about him was ragged and wild—in a way that was unusual for the town of Misty Willow.

She tried not to watch as he thumbed the rim of his shot glass. That was her first clue he was different. Shots were for getting down, not lingering and thinking.

When he looked up at her, she was stunned by the color of his eyes: vivid blue with a ring of green—or was that golden amber?—around the center. She quickly looked away.

As she went back to work, he rested his knuckles against his temple and moved his eyes with her. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Eliza."

"Eliza…" he said. "That's a nice name."

"Don't think I've seen you in here before."

"No, you wouldn't have. I'm not from…around here."

"In town long?"

He shook his head. "Just for the night. Back on the road tomorrow."

"What is it you do, mister?"

He threw back the shot and set the glass on the counter, then returned to the stein of stout he had nearby. "That's privileged information."

"Ah," she smiled. She could tell he had no idea how easy he was to size up. "Well, you don't look like a farmer or ranch hand, and you're certainly not the professional type." She dried her hands on a rag and gestured to his belt. "So judgin' by that iron on your hip, that leaves either some kind of a law man, or an outside-of-the-law man."

He looked down to where she'd pointed, then quickly looked back up and squinted at her. "You're a perceptive one, I'll give you that. Very sharp kid. I'll leave you to decide which it is." As she bent for something under the counter he followed with, "Although—law man and outlaw man—sometimes, they're not so clear-cut, you know. Sometimes, the two kinda blend together."

"Ah, so outlaw it is then," she smiled brightly as she came back up.

His brows scrunched together for a moment in frustration at having given himself away, and he grumbled and went back to his drink.

"No self-respecting law man would ever say such a thing." She couldn't help but grin at his reaction to her ability to peg him perfectly. "Don't worry," she chuckled. "I won't tell anyone, mister. Your not-so-secret is safe with me."

"Ah, you don't got a nice beau you can tell so he can come in here and try to whoop my ass?" he said taking another swig.

She laughed and bit her lip, trying not to blush. "No. No beau," she said quietly. It wasn't as if the regulars hadn't teased her about whether she had a beau. She never paid them any mind. But somehow this one was getting to her.

"Oh. Too bad," he said looking off into distance. "I might've enjoyed whoopin' his ass." He looked back at her with a quick wink.

She smiled and shook her head as she continued wiping the countertop.

"You don't have to call me mister, by the way. Name's Arthur," he said, sipping from his stein.

_Arthur_… She smiled and tried not to dwell on the way she was feeling under his gaze. It felt like there were quiet embers glowing in her chest. When she looked back up at him, his bright eyes and relaxed smirk were nothing but kindling to the flame.

A strand of her blonde hair fell out of her bun and into her face. She tried to brush it back, but it was no use.

"So what's a young kid like you doin' workin' in a place like this?" he said.

"I'm not so very young. Nineteen," she said with a dip of her chin and a smirk as she took his empty shot glasses. "Oh," she sighed, "I shouldn't be here."

"What, is this not your shift?"

"No, no. You just asked why I'm workin' here, didn't you?" she chuckled at him. "No, I mean, I shouldn't be stuck in this position, workin' in this saloon," she said, feeling her familiar sense of loss and frustration bubble to the surface.

She watched him raise the stein and press the cool glass to his right temple as he listened to her.

"This is not the way my life was supposed to turn out," she said. "I had big plans: dreams of going to college," she smiled, "studyin' somethin'. Maybe music so I could be a grand singer, or literature so I could teach all them books. Or maybe medicine so I could become a nurse. I never got so far as decidin' which." Her smile slowly fell. "But—"

"Fall on hard times?"

She nodded and looked down.

"Ain't we all," he said as he drank from his glass. "Where are your parents?" he asked.

"Dead and gone," she said, fighting the gruesome memories of failing to nurse them back to health. "Just last year."

"Mm. Sorry to hear that," he said. "So you're on your own. Now I understand why you're workin' here."

"Just doin' what I can to get by. Turns out I ain't half bad at that."

Having already picked up the debris on the counter, she vigorously pulled her rag back and forth across the countertop in quick sweeping motions, knowing her face would never shine back at her there.

"No," she heard him mumble on the tail-end of a sigh, "you ain't like any other waitress, are you?"

She looked at him as he raised the glass to his mouth. "What's that supposed to mean?" she scoffed. "Do you always speak your thoughts aloud when you're drunk?"

"You should hear me when I'm sober. And I ain't awfully drunk. Not yet, anyway. I plan to have still another of these after this one." He took a big gulp and set the glass back down. "Naw, it ain't a bad thing," he tried to reassure her, raising his eyebrows as he got back to the subject. "Every waitress I've ever come across has her bosoms half spillin' out and only wants to get in your pants, both pockets and…otherwise."

"Oh, god." Her eyebrows came together as she shook her head at him. ""You really must be sober."

He pointed at her. "Darlin', I just paid you a compliment," he said matter-of-factly. "Learn to know one when you get one."

She caught sight of a man at a table waving her down to order drinks. "I'll try to remember that," she laughed. "Very nice meetin' you, Arthur," she smiled brightly. She noticed him sit up straight and watch as she walked away.

"Yeah," he said hazily. "Nice meetin' you too."

When Eliza took the man's order and turned around to head back to the bar, Arthur was standing in front of her. She jumped and gasped.

"You know…" he began, "you never asked me if I had a beau. Er—a sweetheart, I mean."

She tried not to smile. "Ain't my place. I just serve the drinks, mister."

"_Ar_—"

"_Arthur_," she caught herself before he could correct her.

"Well ain't you just the least bit curious?"

"Don't get paid to be curious," she said, turning to carry empty glasses back to the bar.

He followed her. "Well if I were you I would be."

"Well good thing I ain't you," she chuckled as she went behind the counter and unloaded her glasses.

"You talk a lot of bluster, but I think you are curious."

She turned to face him. "Look, Mr. Arthur—"

"Drop the 'mister,' would you?" He waved a hand, his expression briefly annoyed. "No need for formalities. And I know I might not look it, but I ain't more than a handful of years older than you."

"Don't matter. I got a job to do. If you've got a brain in that skull of yours, you can see that. I don't need you distractin' me."

"Oh, I'm distractin' you, am I?" he said with a grin. "So it's workin'."

She rolled her eyes at him and fought a grin as she left the bar with rag in hand. Delia, the only other waitress in the saloon and the one who'd gotten Eliza her job, caught up to her as they passed each other.

"You've got a lonesome little pup followin' you around tonight, looks like," she whispered with a smile. "Never seen one follow so close. He's a looker under all that rough and tumble."

Eliza's voice caught in her throat. She reached up and pulled a tiny feather out of Delia's bright red hair, something that must've fallen on her when she was outside. She blew it and twirled it between her fingers.

"I'm just sayin'," Delia continued, "For once I wouldn't mind that attention. Tonight the night, Eliza?"

Her eyes went wide, and she bit her lip at the sound of Delia's giggle as she turned and walked away.

"'Do you have a sweetheart?'" she heard Arthur's gravelly voice as he came up behind her. "It's a simple question. I'm just waitin'. I'm just waitin' on you to ask me!"

She scoffed as she wiped an empty table. "Seems to me it wouldn't make no difference if you did have one." She turned at the sound of trickling laughter and realized the two of them were now being watched by some of the saloon patrons, making their conversation partly an exhibition. She tried to continue about her business, going to the bar to retrieve the drinks Peroni had made and bringing them back to the table.

"Come on, honey, ask me," Arthur said, standing at the other side of the table. "Ask me if I got a sweetheart."

"No need. I doubt anyone like you could get one," she said, prompting a round of low _oohs_ from the men at the table.

One of them piped up: "Aw, come on, hun. Look at the poor bastard. Put him out of his misery. One quick little peck couldn't hurt."

"Yeah…right," she said as she set the drinks one by one on the table. "Give 'em an inch, and they take a mile," she said glaring at Arthur.

"Jesus! She's a tough one, ain't she?" Arthur said to the men at the table.

"You got no idea!" came a holler from another table. "You picked the wrong waitress, partner. Ain't nothin' doin'. She's got it sewn up tight."

She felt her face go hot. She was used to men trying to get handsy, and he wasn't. But this was almost worse.

He rushed to her side, and the scents of tanned leather and whiskey filled her nose. She looked up and found herself eye-to-eye with him, and was shocked to find that as he'd said, he was nowhere near as drunk as she'd thought he was based on his behavior. His eyes were bright and crystal clear. Her breath caught when she realized that as deeply as she looked into them, they could look right back. She couldn't hide her own eyes.

She quickly looked away and briskly headed to the hallway in the back for a moment alone.

Arthur smirked at the gents sitting at the table. "Should I go back there, ya think?"

They all laughed heartily, and he nodded.

"Hey," one hollered as he made for the back. "Grab her by the waist and plant a sloppy one on her for me, would ya?"

Eliza leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath, holding her waist. She was terrified by how attracted she was to him.

When she saw him come down the hallway, her stomach jumped. But he simply came and leaned against the wall beside her.

He got close but never touched her. "Come on, darlin'. You're the prettiest gal in the place."

She couldn't help but smile at him. "There's only one other gal in the place."

He looked up, catching himself and dipping his chin. "Well, you're the prettiest gal on the block."

Her smile brightened as she watched him struggle to come up with something charming.

"If the place were full to the brim with—with…opera…s-singers…"

Her brows came together, and she let out a laugh.

"You'd still be the prettiest."

She gave a chuckle through her nose. "I don't think you'd know pretty if it stepped on your boot." She shook her head at him.

"Oh, come on!" he said. "Quit horsin' around."

"Oh, you of all people would know about that, wouldn't ya, cowboy?" She grinned at him, and a wide smile grew on his face signaling his hopes were buoyed. The curve of his mouth was like a hook, and she was the unfortunate fish.

When their hands brushed, she swallowed hard. Her breathing hastened when she saw him lean in for a kiss. "You-you just stay a foot away from me," she said pointing to the other side of the hallway. "Please. Please, I'm serious," she begged.

"Okay, all right," he said with his hands up, taking a step back. "I can do that."

"This job is all I have," she said. "I can't…I just can't do this here."

"I understand," he nodded, letting his hands drop. "Well do you work all night?"

She shook her head. "I'm off in about half an hour," she said quietly.

"Well I'll walk you home then. There's…folk of all kind with dubious morals, come out at night, you know. Can't be too careful. You'll let me walk you home, won't ya?"

She nodded slowly, unable to open her mouth. "Mm…mm-hmm."

When she left the hallway and went back into the main bar area, she kept her eyes down but felt her face go warm when the men started whooping and hollering, teasing her mercilessly.

"Well that was fast!" one of them shouted when Arthur followed behind her.

"All right, all right, that's enough for one evening, gentlemen," he said lifting a hand a patting the air to defuse them. "You are gentlemen, ain't ya? Let's let this little lady get back to work in peace. She does have a job to do."

She looked back at him and he winked at her, prompting a smile she couldn't hide if she'd tried.

He sat and kept his eyes on her while she worked, and half an hour later he grabbed his jacket as she headed for the door.

He cleared his throat as she pulled her coat close against the evening chill. "Off we go then," he said. "After you."

She stepped off the porch and headed in the direction of home, and she was pleased to find he didn't tail behind her like a stalker, but rather fell in step beside her. A thought crossed her mind, and she paused. "Um, you should know…I live in a boarding house," she said timidly.

He nodded. "Okay. Well, still gotta get home safely, don't you?"

She smiled and nodded, turning to continue walking.

"He didn't get on your case, did he? About the scene I made earlier…" he mumbled, rubbing his neck.

"Who, Peroni? Ah, he turns a blind eye to teasing. I think he figures it draws business."

He cocked his head to the side. "Well I'm glad I didn't cause no trouble for you."

"So…" she sighed and cleared her throat. "Do you have a sweetheart?"

He chuckled. "You know, I had a real Casanova comment prepared for whenever you finally got around to askin' me that, and for the life of me I can't remember what it was." He shook his head. "No. No sweetheart. Wouldn't have thought you'd ever actually ask."

"A girl oughtta know something about her bodyguard, don't you think?"

He laughed and looked at her. "That's right."

She smiled, enjoying the sound of his laugh.

They turned down a few more streets, and she said, "This is it. Mrs. Kessler's Boarding Home for Young Women." She looked at him and chuckled as she unlocked the front door. "A real treat to look at, ain't it?"

"It's…simple. Very…brown," he said, and she laughed.

"Yes, those are the nicest words for it. But it's home. Warm and dry," she said as they stepped through the front door. She looked up the staircase to their right that veered straight ahead. "My room is just there, at the top of the stairs," she whispered. She looked back at him. "I guess…I don't need a bodyguard anymore."

He scrunched his eyebrows and sighed, eyeing the staircase. "It's my thinkin' I better see you all the way up. Spiders and whatnot…"

She smiled and bit her lip. "Okay."

They quietly ascended the staircase, the wooden steps creaking underfoot, and she thought about how Mrs. Kessler would wring her neck and kick her out on her bum if she knew she'd let a man step foot inside the house. She took a deep breath as she watched his hand follow hers up the bannister.

Once at the top of the stairs, she took a few steps to the left, passing the two doors on the right and the two on the left, and unlocking her door out of muscle memory. She left it closed when she remembered she wasn't alone.

"Well…here we are. Safe and sound," she said, looking at him as he came and stood before her. She wondered for a moment about how she got here, late in the evening with a man at the mouth of her bedroom.

He smiled. "Safe and sound indeed," he nodded. He watched as she looked down and a wisp of hair fell in her face. He reached up and brushed it away, causing her to look up at him, but he concentrated on tucking the hair away. "You know…you should try to keep your hair out of your eyes. Try to show 'em off. They're nice."

"I always thought they were a pale, dull green," she said quietly. "Mama was the one with the bright amber-green eyes."

He shook his head. "No." He caught himself and nodded. "I mean, I'm sure. But yours are nice too."

She'd wanted to say 'I could say the same about you,' but her breath caught when he came close. She looked up into his eyes for a moment before he kissed her, and she felt herself kissing him right back. He wasted no time beating around the bush, and it was no chaste peck. She leaned back against her bedroom door, actually disappointed when it didn't release behind her. She reached down and twisted the doorknob, and they nearly fell back when it gave way behind them.

They pressed up against the open door, and she brought her hands to the top of his head, accidentally knocking his hat off.

She felt his hand trail up under her skirt and press behind her left thigh, and she realized he was asking her to raise it. As soon as she complied, he lifted her half off the floor.

She finally caught her breath when he broke away from her mouth. "Oh, God. Oh, dear God," she breathed and closed her eyes as he kissed her neck and chest. "Oh, God, please forgive me."

He kissed her on the mouth, and she returned his passion in kind, grabbing a fistful of his hair. They stumbled into the room and closed the door behind them.

He lowered her onto the bed, and she briefly considered asking him to be gentle, since this was her first time. She immediately thought better of it, both out of curiosity and sheer embarrassment at the thought of telling this strong, gruff outlaw she'd never been with a man.

* * *

The next morning when Arthur opened the bedroom door to leave, he was met by the sounds of whispers and hushed giggling. He bent to pick up his hat, trying to ignore the gaggle of snickering, chatting women that had accumulated in the hallway. When their ruckus gave way to silence he realized they were staring at him, and he started towards the stairwell, his boots falling heavily as he went.

.

"Baby, baby, baby, baby, you're fine.

You got me…walkin' on the ceilin'

and bouncin' off the walls.

Baby, baby, baby, can't you hear me when I call?"

-Steve Earle The Dukes, "Baby Baby Baby (Baby)"


	2. 2

The Previous Night

One of the other girls who lived in the boarding house left her room to knock on the far bedroom door and ask for help with one of the curling rags in her auburn hair. As she passed Eliza's room, her attention snagged on the hat on the floor in front of her door. She leaned her ear closer to the door, and her eyes went wide as she covered her mouth.

She scuffled to the door she'd first meant to go to and quietly tapped on it, whispering as she tried not to squeal. "Maude! Get out here! Hurry!" She tapped over and over again.

"What in the heavens, Susie?" Maude yawned and rubbed her eyes as she opened the door, her brown hair in a loose tie at her neck.

"Eliza's got a man in her room!" Susanna whispered.

Maude's eyes went wide. "What?"

"Look!" Susanna pointed at the hat.

"What's the commotion?"

The two of them looked in the direction of the other bedroom as Cleo opened her door and stepped into the hall in her nightgown, her raven black locks swept over her shoulder.

"Hey! Eliza's got a man in her room!"

Cleo slowly grinned. "You're joking."

"Look at that!" Susanna pointed again at the hat. "And listen for yourself!"

The three of them leaned closer to Eliza's door and immediately heard the unmistakable truth.

"Well, I'll be," Cleo said folding her arms and leaning back. "Goodie-two-shoes finally bit the bullet. Good for her."

"Oh, Eliza…" Maude sighed, putting a hand to her forehead.

"I can't believe it!" Susanna whispered. "It's just…beyond belief!"

"Don't hurt yourself," Cleo whispered, her eyebrows coming together as she looked at her from the corner of her eyes. "What's so hard to believe about it? She's a woman, ain't she?"

"Sure, but she's not just any woman. She's so careful, she's so…Eliza."

"There's time enough, Susie. She'll come to regret it someway, I'm sure," Maude said.

"God_damn!_" Cleo guffawed. "They're both really goin' at it!"

"I wonder if he's a looker," Susanna said.

"He'd have to be, for Eliza to open her legs to him. That and a real charmer," Maude said.

"I'd like to meet him," Cleo smirked. "Sounds like he's the master of his craft."

"That, or Eliza don't have no experience. We know that's the case," Susanna said.

"Why can't it be both?" Cleo said.

"I hope he does right by her," Maude said. "She deserves nothing less after all she's been through."

"Mm-mm. Listen to that," Cleo said. "Been a while. I've played the good girl too long. What I wouldn't give to be her right now."

"This is silly," Maude said. "We really shouldn't be out here listening to th—"

"Oh, no! No, no!" Cleo whispered, causing Maude to stop and turn back. "We're committed now! Who's gonna stay out here so we get a good look at him when he comes out?"

"What's going on?"

They all turned to see Delia come to the top of the stairs.

"Eliza's got a man in her room."

"What? Oh my god. It's the man from the bar, ain't it?" she said.

"What!"

"You saw him?!"

The three other girls went into a hushed frenzy.

"What's he like?"

"Tell us about him!"

"I never seen him before. Don't know anything about him, but he's a real tough cowboy, that's for sure. Real mountain man," she said.

"My god! Eliza with a mountain man?" Cleo said. "Who knew she had it in her? Well—" she caught herself, fighting a laugh. "I guess he does now."

"Oh, you!" Susanna snickered, swatting her. "Stop that!"

"Is that his hat? Yup, that's him, all right," Delia said. "Oh…" she put a hand to the side of her face, her expression sliding into a remorseful frown. "I teased her about him at work. I guess I didn't realize how much she actually liked him."

Cleo reached down to pick the hat up and studied it.

"No, don't touch it!" Susanna said.

"Delia, how could you?" Maude said. "She's the youngest of us, and she ain't got folks no more. I told you all we had to watch out for her."

"I know, I know! I'm sorry!"

"She's a grown-ass woman, Maude," Cleo said putting the hat on, "makin' grown-up choices. Ain't nobody could stop it if they tried."

"No, put it back!" Susanna said.

"That's a pretty cynical point of view," Maude said. "I'd hate to be your sister."

"She ain't my sister!" Cleo whispered, shrugging. "Anyways, sounds to me like she's havin' her a grand ol' time in there."

The four of them leaned closer to the door and listened for a few moments. Cleo watched as the faces of the other girls fell white, and they tried to swallow.

She grinned as she replaced the hat where it had been on the floor and whispered, "So, I take it we're all campin' out in the hall to make sure we get a good look at him?"

After a moment they broke apart and staked out their territory.

"I'll sit here against the rail!"

"I'll sit right here!"

"I've got this spot."

* * *

The next morning when Eliza's bedroom door creaked open, Cleo swatted the other girls awake.

"Hey, it's open. Get up. It's happening," she whispered.

They all hurried to their feet as the door opened wide and he stepped into the hall.

They whispered and shared low _oohs_ and giggles when they saw his tall, sturdy form and rugged getup. When he bent to pick up his hat and rose to put it on his head, they fell silent as they stared at him, his presence filling the hallway. He quickly headed down the stairs, his spurs jingling and his strong steps counting out the stairs as he went.

When he was halfway down the stairs Eliza appeared at her open doorway, her golden hair and bodice in disarray, and she was greeted by a round of whooping and clapping from the girls. She immediately turned red and smiled, covering her face in her hands.

"Oh, well done, Eliza," Cleo said loudly as she clapped.

Eliza heard them giggle and gasp, but she immediately went to the guard rail and looked down.

She watched as Arthur took the last step.

"Just where did you come from?!" she heard Mrs. Kessler shout when she saw him. "And just what the hell are you doin' in my house? Get out! Get!"

"Don't worry, ma'am. I'm gettin'," he said calmly as he made for the front door. And just like that he was gone. He hadn't looked back.

"Quick! Kessler's comin' up! Close her door!" the girls said, scrambling to shut Eliza's door.

When Mrs. Kessler made it to the top of the stairs, they all stood side by side and looked at her.

"You can't know," Cleo said. "You can't know which of us it was, you old hag. You'd have to toss us all out."

Her eyes narrowed, and she huffed. "If I ever do…you'll be sorry."

When she was downstairs again, they converged on Eliza, firing chatter at her. Eliza noticed a black neckerchief on the floor of the hall. Knowing Arthur had dropped it on his way out, she knelt to pick it up.

"Thank you all, for what you did," she said quietly with a smile.

"Aw, don't mention it. We gals gotta stick together," Cleo said winking at Maude. "How was he, for your first time?" she asked with an easy grin.

"He stayed the whole night! He must really like you!" Delia said.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Susanna said.

"I thought you were more careful than that, Eliza," Maude said.

"I'm fine, Maude. Really," she smiled, swiping her hair out of her face.

"Better than fine, I'd say, from what we could hear last night," Susanna snickered, and the rest of them started hooting and cackling.

"Oo, Susie! What a comment!" Delia giggled.

"Oh, he was a firebrand of a looker, he was!" Susanna said, fanning herself. "Stopped us cold dead in our tracks, he did. You sure know how to pick 'em when you get around to it, Eliza."

"Yeah, you gotta be careful," Cleo said with a relaxed grin, "fella like that, get ya pregnant just by lookin' at ya."

Their giggles halted, and Eliza's smile fell as she swallowed.

"I mean… I mean, I'm sure it won't happen to you," Cleo said shaking her head and waving. "I'm only makin' a joke."

"How old is he, do you know?" Maude asked.

"I don't know exactly," Eliza shook her head, "but I think he's in his twenties."

"Well, what does he do for a livin'?" Delia asked.

"He's, um…" Eliza caught herself before she answered honestly. "Well, actually, I couldn't say."

"Where does he come from?" Susanna asked.

"I don't know," Eliza said quietly.

"Well, what do you know about him, silly?" Susanna giggled.

Eliza went quiet.

"Do you at least know how to get in touch with him?" Maude asked.

Eliza slowly wagged her head. "Wait…you don't think… He'll come back, won't he?"

None of the girls said a thing.

Eliza's face went white.

.

"I am a prisoner of your heart.

I was takin' it slow, but then I locked up hard.

I am a prisoner of your heart.

I was takin' it slow, but I got caught off guard."

\- Needtobreathe, "Prisoner"


	3. 3

Several weeks later when Eliza was serving drinks she caught a whiff of someone's body odor and had to rush outside to vomit.

"Hey, you all right?" Delia said popping her head out. "These filthy stinking men never caused you no mind before."

Eliza wiped her mouth, struggling to talk as another wave of sickness threatened to force its way up. She shook her head. "I been dog sick for the past three days straight. You think I got somethin' bad?"

Delia came and pressed her hand to her forehead. "You ain't warm. Just a little clammy and pale." She lowered her eyes and pressed her lips together. "I don't think you caught somethin'. Think you can make it to the end of the night? Then we'll talk on the walk home."

Eliza nodded.

On the way home Delia held her hair back when they had to stop so Eliza could vomit again. "Eliza, dear…" she said as she came back up. Eliza looked at her with half-mast eyes. "Have you had your cycle this month?"

Eliza's eyes shot wide, and she immediately bent to vomit again.

Minutes later Delia had her arm around her, and all the girls were in her room gathered round her on her bed. They were patting and stroking her as she sat with her face in her hands.

"You haven't heard from him at all?" Susanna asked.

"No," Eliza said. "And I won't. I know that now. I'm alone in this." She hung her head. "I'm so embarrassed, I'm so afraid. But mostly I'm so…so sad," she sobbed. "He should know, and I have no way to tell him."

"You're worried about _him?_" Delia asked. "Don't be. Serves him right if he stays away."

"Didn't you…" Cleo hesitated. "There are ways, you know. To try to keep this from happening. Didn't you…have him pull out?"

"Oh, sick!" Susanna said, hitting her with a pillow.

"Enough with your lewd talk!" Delia said.

Eliza dropped her head into her hands.

"Honestly!" Maude said. "What's it gonna help now, anyway? What's done is done. You'll only make her more miserable. It's clear she didn't know as much about it as you."

"No," Eliza lifted her head, chuckling in spite of herself as she sniffed. "No, I can confidently say I didn't."

"Damn. And after your very first time…" Cleo wagged her head. "I had a feeling about him. He didn't seem a feller who could bring himself to fail at much."

"You're in a bit of a pickle now," Susanna said. "No one wants to bring up Kessler, but you know we have to."

"I really do feel for you, Eliza," Cleo said sincerely. "I love the men myself, but I weren't gonna do nothing to risk landing myself back on the streets. Ain't nothing worse. Nothing."

"What are you gonna do?" Delia asked.

Eliza sniffed as a boulder sat lodged in her throat. "I guess I…I'll stay until I start to show—how long do you think that'll be?"

"Few more months, at the very most," Maude said with a forlorn expression. "Could be sooner if Kessler has a sharp eye."

"Oh, no…" she cried, covering her face in her hands.

"I'll try to help you find somewhere to stay before then," Delia said rubbing her back.

Eliza was so agitated she didn't know whether to bury her face in her hands or scream. "I'm scared out of my wits right now, and sure, I know it'll be hard. But this is my baby we're talkin' about. However he might've gotten here, he's here. I'm gonna be a mother." She looked around at their faces. "He's my baby. Nothing'll change that. And I'll love him no matter what."

"So, you know it's a him now?" Susanna asked.

Eliza looked down. "I…I guess so," she whispered.

"Do you have any family in the area, Eliza?" Maude asked as she rubbed her back.

She shook her head.

"Anyone at all?"

"No, I don't have anyone in the world." She looked down, putting a hand to her torso. "Except this baby."

* * *

A little over two months later Eliza was standing in Miss Kessler's office, quiet tears streaming down her face, as the woman circled her.

"I thought you were different, Eliza," she shook her head. "I had such faith in you, even as young as you are." She glared at her. "Then you go and turn yourself into a trollop," she said gesturing to the small bulge under her skirt. "I can hardly bring myself to believe it was you those months ago who brought that awful man into this house. I run a boarding house, girl. Not a brothel," she spat. "If you're gonna behave as a common strumpet, you'll live where they do. Out on the street."

Eliza sniffed and put a hand to her small belly as she sputtered back tears. She was terrified for herself and her baby, but she refused to beg from someone who could be so cruel.

She picked up her carpetbag and handbag and left her office. The other girls lined the hallway, cooing and whispering sad things to her as she passed.

"I'm so sorry, Eliza," Delia said. "I tried to find you a new situation…"

"It's all right, Delia," Eliza said, putting on a brave face.

"Where will you go?" Maude asked gently, taking her hand in hers.

Eliza's eyes began to fill at the concern she saw in her expression. "I'm hoping…" she sniffed, "I'm hoping it'll come to me while I walk," she said, piecing together a smile.

"Oh, Eliza…" Susanna sobbed, and the three of them hugged her.

Eliza walked towards the front door and looked up to see Cleo waiting for her by the threshold with a somber expression.

Cleo looked down at something in her hands, and Eliza followed her gaze to see a platinum compass with elaborate engravings.

"My mama gave me this," she said quietly, "before she died. Take it."

Eliza's jaw dropped, and she could hardly speak. "Oh, no. This is something very special to you. Cleo, I couldn't."

"I want you to have it," Cleo said holding it out. "I know you'll have to sell it at some point, maybe sooner rather than later. But you need it more than I do. It'll just sit on my dresser, lookin' pretty," she chuckled, then grew solemn, "meanwhile you won't have a dresser, or maybe even a bed for that matter." She pursed her lips and looked resolved as she took Eliza's wrist and put it in her hand. "I couldn't keep it knowin' it might've helped you, even a little bit. Please take it." She smiled. "Maybe it'll point you in the right direction."

"Cleo…" Eliza cried, and Cleo threw her arms around her.

"You're a good girl, Eliza," Cleo whispered into her hair, "straight to the heart. The rare kind. We all see it. Even if this mean ol' world don't. And don't you forget that, now. Not ever." As she pulled back, she said, "And don't you dare listen to the awful things they say, when they pass you on the street. They don't know who you are." She swallowed. "That's my only bit of advice."

Eliza took in a breath through her tears. "You have a bigger heart than you let on, Cleo," she tried to smile. "You should let it show more often."

When she'd said her goodbyes and walked out the door the final time, she clutched the compass as she went. She walked the town for a few miles crying the while way until she looked up and realized her feet had led her to the home of Adelaide Walters, the local midwife, the woman who'd helped her own mother deliver her. She remembered old Addie lived alone. She put her hand on the rickety twig fence and looked at the place. It was a small house, almost a shack, and there was moss growing in spots on the outside. But she looked up at the smoke coming from the chimney and longed for the warmth she knew was inside.

When the front door opened to show the old woman's familiar face, she couldn't help but cry.

Addie peered at her wet, pink face and slowly came forward. "…Eliza?"

She nodded.

"What in the name of Jupiter happened to you, child?"

She struggled through her tears. "I got no one, Addie, since ma and pa died. And I got nowhere to go." She raised a hand to her mouth trying to stifle her sobs, knowing how pathetic she must seem. "I'm strung up, and I got nowhere to go."

Addie glanced down at her belly and the bags at her feet and immediately understood. "Oh, child…" she moaned sympathetically. "Come on inside. You'll stay with me," she said putting an arm around her.

"I don't mean to impose," Eliza said as they went indoors. "I have a job; I'll work and pay you for allowing me to stay."

"Oh, nonsense, dear, I won't hear of it. I can tell you've gotta get back on your feet. That means you need to save up. And you ain't just savin' for yourself no more. Now what kinda person would I be if I took your money. Hm?"

"Addie," she smiled. "You've always been so kind." She looked around at the small, modest, one-bedroom place and still felt thankful to be warm and know she had shelter.

"Your ma and pa were good folk, Lord rest 'em. It's the very least I can do. Now you just sit by the fire, and I'll fix you some hot broth, and you tell me the whole of it, all right?"

Eliza warmed herself by the fireplace and told Addie the basics, leaving out the bits she felt were more embarrassing. But she ended up crying all the same.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Addie whispered as she held her. "You stay as long as you want. And I mean that."


	4. 4

A few weeks passed, and Eliza began to feel at home. Addie had set up a new cot for her in the bedroom, and when she wasn't looking Eliza took Arthur's neckerchief and hung it on a nail in the wall by the bedroom door.

Addie was always talking about things she'd make and do for the baby when it came time. As Eliza's belly grew, she was grateful to have Addie. But every once in a while Addie would get into a fluster about the position "that fool" had put Eliza in. Eliza knew it was only because she loved and felt for her, but she wished he wouldn't come up in conversation at all. She thought about him enough and felt pitiful enough all on her own.

This afternoon was one of those days. Eliza sat with her elbow on the table top and her hand on her forehead as Addie went about the place working on chores and sweeping in a tizzy.

"He didn't give you the clap, did he?"

"No," Eliza groaned. "I didn't get anything from him. He was clean."

"You're lucky on that account, with these cowboys these days. Still…" she shook her head. "I've seen it a dozen times, if I've seen it a hundred. To plant a life inside you and leave you to fend for yourself. It's despicable."

"He couldn't have known this would happen."

"No, but it's enough, ain't it, to do what he did. How can you defend him? Child, your head is on wrongside-up."

"But it takes two, don't it?"

Addie looked at her. "Yes, it's true," she said setting her broom down and coming to sit across from her. "And it only takes one time. Didn't your mama ever teach you that before she died?"

Eliza sipped from her mug and spoke quietly. "I know I didn't have all the experience in the world, but I'm fairly certain it was actually…three times."

Addie paused and eyed her, her brows coming together. "I thought you said you only ever saw him the one night!"

Eliza's eyes fluttered down as she brought the mug back up to her lips, a bright red flush filling her cheeks. "That's right."

Addie's eyes went wide, and her expression turned to disgust. "Oh, I don't need to hear this! You are a latent saucy minx, you are!"

"Oh, no, Addie, please! Don't say such a thing! You know me; you've known me my whole life!"

Addie peered at her from the corner of her eyes and sighed. "Yes, and you're such a sweet, beautiful child. Always have been," she said as she chucked her chin and looked into her eyes. "And I hate to see you taken possession of and tossed away like trash."

Eliza's eyes grew heavy and wet, but she spoke calmly. "It's on me just as much as him. I should've known better."

"Oh, child. Don't take my words to heart, and don't beat yourself up. You're young, and you were a maiden."

"No. No, I mean really. _Really_, I…should've known better." She dropped her head in her hands and sobbed, and when she looked back up, she saw Addie's confused and concerned look. "He told me from the start. Told me he was only in town for one night," she cried. "I clean forgot, Addie. I looked into his eyes, and I clean forgot."

Addie's expression was one of genuine empathy and pity. "Eliza…" she shook her head.

"So you see?" she sniffed. "I've only done it to myself."

Addie leveled her eyes at her. "Don't you dare absolve him of his responsibility in this. Sure, you may have made a poor choice, but he was right there with you. And for him to turn his back on you completely makes him a coward, scum of the earth, and hardly a man in my book."

"It doesn't make a difference now. He ain't comin' back. I'll never see him again, and I have to start tryin' to accept that. It's hard enough as it is, Addie." She sniffed and looked up at her. "I've got a dull ache in my back every moment, my ankles won't stop swellin', I got filthy men breathin' their stinkin' breath down my neck and grabbin' at me at work, even though they see this!" she said gesturing to her belly. "And all I can think of is him." She saw Addie's expression change with understanding, and she was relieved to see it. "So if you wouldn't mind…" she said quietly, "let's drop the talk about Arthur."

"Oh, is that his name?" Addie huffed, getting heated again. When she saw Eliza's glance, she softened. "All right," she said. "You won't get any more talk about him from me."

* * *

One afternoon when Eliza was about seven months along and walking home through the middle of town from a short shift at the saloon, she stopped in her tracks when she saw the cold stare of a pair of women in fine dress. They stepped aside and passed her, making their way around to the other side of the street. But only after they made certain she heard them say, "Two-bit slut harlot."

The air left her lungs as if she'd been slapped across the face. She'd made it all this time without coming across a callous soul on the street with a cruel word, even though it wasn't a huge town. And these two hadn't been anybody she knew personally. But somehow she hadn't anticipated the cold and isolation she could be made to feel, even from a distance.

She was immediately hit by the words she'd heard earlier in the bar and had easily ignored, though now they nagged at her:

"Peroni, how could you employ a knocked-up skirt? Just the sight of her is a drag on the place. It does nothing for a good humor."

And again she heard the words of Miss Kessler upon her dismissal:

"You go and turn yourself into a trollop… If you're gonna behave as a common strumpet, you'll live where they do. Out on the street."

Eliza liked to think herself self-sufficient and immune to the occasional crude remark, but these comments seemed to have a cumulative effect, and she felt it become hard to breathe. It seemed no one wanted her. Not even her baby's father.

And just then she remembered Cleo's words, like a friendly hand in a wasteland:

"You're a good girl, Eliza, straight to the heart. We all see it. Even if this mean ol' world don't. And don't you dare listen to the awful things they say, when they pass you on the street."

Eliza sniffed and continued walking, her eyes clearing with each step.

She went into the mercantile and purchased a couple cans of veggies, but when she left she caught sight of a couple across the street whom she could tell were very much in love. She had her arm through his, and their fingers were interlaced as they looked into each other's eyes and he kissed her on the cheek.

The image blurred and a lump rose in her throat, but she couldn't take her eyes off them. She dropped a can, and someone stooped to pick it up, but she still couldn't look away from the couple.

"He's a damn fool, Eliza," she heard a deep voice say and snapped out of it to see it was Mr. James McLaggan, a wagon train leader in his thirties she'd seen at church every so often, handing her the can of vegetables.

Realizing that he'd seen what she'd been staring at and whom he was referring to, she burst into tears. "And so am I!" She covered her face in her hands.

"Oh, Miss Eliza. I didn't mean to…" He sighed and cleared his throat as he removed his hat. "Listen, I'm leadin' a wagon train tomorrow out further west. Probably be my last one, with the popularity of the transcontinental and all. Maybe… Forgive me, I'm sure it's none of my place, but…maybe you oughtta think about joinin'. Not much left for you out here."

She looked up at him as she wiped her eyes. "California?" she sniffed. "I hear it's awful wild."

He hesitated, then something in his eyes caught hers as he said, "Not if you have someone to protect you."

She took a quiet breath, and time seemed to slow as she began to realize what he was asking. She started to think of leaving Misty Willow for the great unknown and all that would mean, and it horrified and excited her. She looked down and put her hand to her belly. It was a decision for two: did she want to raise her baby while fighting through the tangled, untamed wilderness? But this man was a rare find: he didn't seem to mind that it was a baby who wasn't his—still he'd offered. She looked back up at him. He was a gentle but strong man in a rough world, with a nice enough face and kind eyes. But all she could see was someone else. Did she have it in her to do that to someone?

She swallowed, and her eyes fluttered down, but she forced herself to look back up at him. "I… I can't, Mr. McLaggan." She caught herself and felt he deserved she use his given name. "James. I just can't."

He nodded and tried to smile. "I wish you all the best, Eliza. I really do," he said as he replaced his hat. "Like I said. He's a damn fool."

She watched him walk away, and her brows came together as she tried to fully understand the exchange that had just taken place. She scurried home and leaned back against the front door when she shut it behind her. Addie was sitting in her rocking chair knitting a pair of socks.

"I think…" Eliza said holding her belly, a dazed look still on her face, "I think Mr. McLaggan might've just…proposed."

Addie dropped her knitting on her lap, her eyes wide. "Marriage?"

Eliza nodded. "I think so, if he's the kind of man I think he is. Along with a journey out west."

"_And?_ What did you say?"

"Turned him down," she said quietly.

"What!" Addie stood. "Why?!"

"I never been anywhere outside Misty Willow."

"That ain't no excuse. Ah, child. Nothin's ever gonna help you if you don't help yourself. Why would you do such a thing?"

She went quiet, focusing on a knot in the wood panel floor. "Because I've got no notion of what's good for me."

Addie's mouth fell open. "And you yourself know that?! Are you hell-bent on foolery and stabbin' your own self in the back? That was someone who was gonna take care of you, be good to you! What are you waitin' for? What's holdin' you back? You ain't got nothin' and no one here. And you just let your one ticket out walk away. You gotta get up outta here!"

She pressed her fingers to her forehead and rubbed hard, the weight of what she'd done finally resting on her. She shook her head, unable to speak.

Addie drew back, finally understanding. "Ruined ya for all other men, has he?" She eyed her, shaking her head as she sat back down and resumed her knitting. "Shame. You know I love you, child. You know I do. But you can't give your heart and soul to the first man who wants in between your legs, silly girl."

Eliza turned and went back out the front door. She leaned against the side of the house and pressed her palm to her forehead, trying to catch her breath as she sucked in big gasps and cried.

* * *

About a month later Eliza came home with an old man in thread barren clothes, shivering from the cold.

Addie's eyes shot wide.

"Addie, I'd like you to meet Merle," Eliza said. "If you're amenable, he'll stay with us just for the next couple days, until he figures out his travel and affairs."

Addie pulled her aside and whispered to her. "This ain't your house, child."

"Oh, Addie, I'd never presume upon your kindness. It's just that, I was hopin'—"

"What are you thinkin' of?"

Eliza looked back at him. "I'm thinkin' he needs compassion, and a helpin' hand," she looked back at Addie, "and just somewhere warm for _two_ nights." Addie looked away, and Eliza spoke more quickly. "He already has a job lined up several towns over. Just needs some time to figure out transportation. We got to talkin'. He's good and gentle. I'd be in his position if you hadn't helped me."

Addie caught sight of the look in her eyes and sighed. "I think you got it mixed up. I think you're the good and gentle one." She peered at her and slowly smiled. "You think we live in a different world than this one, don't you? Maybe we should," she nodded. "Maybe we should all be like you." She looked at the vagrant and stepped over to him. "Well, all right, Merle," she said holding out a hand as he shook it. "Name's Adelaide, but you can call me Addie. Can I get you some hot broth?"

"Well, thankee, Miss Addie," he managed quietly, his voice hoarse but a twinkle in his eye. "That's right kind of you."

Eliza smiled bright as the three of them sat around the fireplace. Merle couldn't stop singing his thanksgivings, and two days later he was gone, just as he'd said.


	5. 5

As Eliza drew closer to her delivery, she stayed home from work more often. One afternoon when she felt her baby move again, she sat by the window and put a hand to her belly.

She let the awe wash over her: the miracle of a new life inside her. She tried to remain in the moment, just the two of them, but just as soon felt the grief and isolation chase her at the edges. She would never share this joy with the one person in the world who'd helped create this life. She would never receive help from him either.

But there was something else, something else about it that was missing, that she knew—somehow she knew—she should've had by now, with a baby inside her. She couldn't put a finger on it until she looked up through the window and felt the warmth of sunshine on her face. It was having someone who knew her inside and out and loved her all the same and whom she knew and loved as well. The world as it was made her feel childish for having such a desire, but she knew she wasn't wrong.

She felt herself sag under the immense weight of the reality of being alone.

.

That same day Addie was out running errands when she overheard a man and woman talking about Eliza around the corner of the grocer.

"Poor girl," the woman said. "She had a family once, a good one. And when her folks passed, it looks like it was all downhill for her from there."

"Don't chalk up her choices to that," the man said. "You know where she works. Ain't hard to put the pieces together. She's a sick, no-account little whore, that's all. Far as I'm concerned, her kind oughtta be run clear outta town. Her and her spawn."

Addie fumed like a furnace and spun around the corner. "You know nothin' about it, Rafe Buckley!" she said, jabbing a finger in his face. The pair's eyes went wide at the realization that they'd been overheard, and by Addie no less. "Nothin' about her, and nothin' about kindness. Why, you run her out, and you'd be robbin' yourself of everything good in this world!" she scathed, but Buckley kept his face hard. "You just make sure I hear nothin' like that outta you again. She's an angel, she is! Pure and good, with a heart of gold! Of course you'd know nothin' about that."

"Ah, shut it, Addie!" he waved a hand, "you crazed ravin' hag!"

Addie threw up her hands as she walked away. "You don't deserve her, the lot of you!"

When Addie arrived home, she opened the door to see Eliza sitting solemnly at the window; and when she looked over at her, she could see she was on the verge of tears.

She needed no words spoken; she knew what she was feeling. She rushed over to her just in time for the dam to break, and Eliza wept in her arms.

"Oh, you dear thing," Addie whispered as she held her head to her chest. "Shh-shh, honey. My dear Eliza," she cooed. "It'll be all right."

* * *

"Mr. Andrews is takin' me to his daughter-in-law; seems it's about her time," Addie said one day as she packed her leather tote. The old mercantile owner was waiting by the door.

"Well I'm headed out to the dairy," Eliza said quietly with her basket in hand as Addie buzzed about the room. "You said you needed buttermilk."

"Fine, fine," Addie said as she stuffed a few more things into her bag. "Just don't be long. It's only afternoon now, but it'll be dark before you know it." She clasped her bag shut, and the three of them headed outside. As Addie got up into the wagon seat behind Mr. Andrews, she called back to her. "You go there, and get along home. And _don't_ you go takin' those loaves of bread you made to the McHenrys." She shot her an eye as she grumbled, "I can read you like an open book. Bleedin' heart, you are." She sat back in the seat and looked at her. "You're due any day; you don't need to be walkin' all over God's green earth."

Eliza's grip tightened around the handle of her basket, and she smiled. "Give my best to Melanie."

She watched as they rode away then made her way to the dairy on the other side of town. When she placed the bottles in her basket she saw the loaves of bread she'd packed before Addie had said anything.

The McHenrys were a poor family with little ones who lived in a shack in a glade in the forest. She looked in its direction. She remembered taking that walk to bring them food every so often before she was pregnant. They'd been so happy and grateful.

She heard Addie's words ringing in her head, but when she remembered the looks on their faces, she decided it hadn't seemed that far of a walk. She turned and went into the woods knowing she'd arrive there before dark. What she hadn't considered was how long and dreadful the walk back would feel.

When she left after spending a little while with the family the sun was setting, but it felt even darker with the trees overhead. She became exhausted, and with each step she felt as if the bones in her legs were pressing straight through her feet. The weight of her basket grew heavier and heavier.

Suddenly it was as though she'd slammed into a brick wall, and she heard the glass bottles break. The looked down to see her basket on the ground and noticed a large wet spot on her skirts. She was so tired that for a moment she was dazed, but when she realized what was happening, panic gripped her chest. She turned and knew she was much too far to go back, and there wasn't much the McHenrys could do to help her anyway.

Just then she heard thunder and looked up to feel big droplets of water hit her face. She couldn't think of anything worse. She tried to continue walking towards home but knew it was no use. In no time she was soaking and felt like she was dragging chains. She stumbled against a tree and made her way towards a nearby bush, crouching underneath it to use what little cover it could afford. It was dark and raining, and she was somewhere she'd told no one she'd be. She shut her eyes and shivered against the cold wind and rain, beginning to pray and to beg her baby to forgive her for being so foolish.

.

"Well, you'll be well-suited to grandfatherin', Jeremy," Addie said patting Mr. Andrews' knee as they pulled up outside her home that evening. "With a granddaughter like that, you'll enjoy every minute," she smiled and dismounted the wagon seat as it began to rain, and she pulled the collar of her coat up over her head.

"Thank you again, Miss Addie," he said over the noise of the rain. "It meant the world havin' you there."

As Addie ran inside, she called to Eliza. "Oh, dearie, she had a baby girl! You wouldn't believe what a darlin' she is. She…" Addie looked around and didn't see her. "Eliza? Eliza hon?" Her face went white as she realized she wasn't back yet, and what the alternative was.

She rushed back outside as Mr. Andrews was beginning to ride away. "Wait!" she called. "She ain't here!"

"What?" he said as she ran up.

"She ain't back yet."

"You mean Miss Eliza's out in this?"

She nodded. "She could be out in this horrible weather, or god knows what. Oh…" She smacked a hand to her forehead. "Oh, where did she say she was goin'? The dairy! I'll stay here in case she comes back. You should check the route to the dairy."

He raised a hand to goad the horses onward, and she stopped him.

"Wait! No… No, somethin' ain't right. She'd be back by now." She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "That stupid girl," she breathed, her voice breaking as the thunder growled. "She went to the McHenrys' place. She's somewhere out in them woods, Jeremy! If she's alive!"

His eyes shot wide. He whipped the horses and took off.

Addie drew a hot bath for Eliza and paced anxiously, trusting she'd be back and trying not to dwell on wolves, fever, or highwaymen.

When Mr. Andrews searched the forest between town and the McHenrys', he found Eliza's basket with the broken bottles, but no Eliza. He tried not to panic as he whipped his head around, calling for her.

Eliza watched his boots pass in the mud and wondered if she could get up enough strength to cry out louder than his calls. When he was finally quiet for a moment she whispered, "Here."

He turned and listened again.

"Here," she whimpered, trying to crawl out.

He ran to her. "Oh, you're alive, you sweet thing. Hush, come on with me, little girl," he said stooping to scoop her up. He gently put her in the wagon, and off they flew.

When he came through the door with Eliza in his arms, Addie almost fainted with relief.

"Oh, child! Damn near caused me an episode of palpitations!" She put a hand to Eliza's forehead. "No fever, thank the Lord. What were you doin'?" she said, about ready to cry as she took her face in her hands and kissed her cheeks and forehead. "What were you thinkin', you sweet, sweet baby girl?"

"I'm sorry," Eliza whimpered quietly.

Addie looked up at Mr. Andrews. "Thank you, bring her in here."

"She said the babe's comin'," he said.

Addie looked at him and down at Eliza in his arms.

"Addie…" Eliza said hazily. "It ain't right. Somethin's wrong."

"Of course it is. You're drenched to the bone."

"No, I mean somethin's really wrong," she said as Mr. Andrews brought her back to the bedroom. "He's tuggin'. He's tuggin' on me."

Addie's eyes fell in empathy as she dabbed the cold rainwater from Eliza's forehead. "It'll feel like that, dear."

Eliza's eyes went wide as Mr. Andrew's stood her up and took his leave of the room. "No. No," she said shaking her head pitifully.

"It's perfect timin', because I've got a bath all drawn up for you," Addie said calmly, closing the door and rolling her sleeves up. "Peel your clothes off, and into the bath you go. Just like we talked about when this time came." Seeing how tired she already was, Addie helped her out of her clothes and into the bath.

"No, no. No, Addie, no," Eliza whined and cried, looking at her and shaking her head.

Addie hushed her and stroked her hair. "Sweet girl. Oh, sweet girl. You're gonna do this, and you'll be just fine. You will."

Eliza shook her head, her eyes filling as the next wave of pain overtook her. She started to panic and heaved big, quick breaths.

"Easy now, breathe easy," Addie said. "That's it."

Eliza groaned and squealed in agony, a pain she never knew a body could feel. It left and returned, over and over again, worse each time, and she couldn't find the end. She gripped the sides of the tub and clenched her eyes closed as Addie's calm words died down, and all she could feel was the pain.

When she opened her eyes the neckerchief on the wall was in her immediate view, and only one thing filled her mind: Where are you? It was one thought repeated like the beat of a drum, until it was a scream.

.

The next morning after hours of labor, Eliza lied in bed with her newborn son in her arms. She watched as he slept, and she never imagined a heart could be so full. _You're brand new_, she thought, _and I'm right there with you._

"I told you you could do it," Addie whispered with a smile as she came to sit on the edge of the bed. "Good Lord built women with somethin' stronger inside them than they realize. Seen it many times."

When she noticed Eliza's eyelids were half-mast and realized she hadn't slept all night, she held her arms out. "Here now. Let me have— Well, what's his name, sweetheart?"

"Isaac," Eliza whispered as she passed him to her.

Addie froze. "Child. Sweet thing. The Lord asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. Are you certain you want to christen him such a thing?"

Eliza opened her eyes and looked at her. "He provided a sacrifice too. Don't forget that bit."

Addie nodded. "Isaac it is. Your father would be mighty proud."

Eliza let her head fall back in exhaustion as she began to drift off. "He's mine," she whispered, "he's mine, ain't he?"

Addie smiled. "Yes, he is, darlin'. Always will be."

Addie took Isaac and went into the kitchen to see Mr. Andrews was still there, looking worried sick. When he saw her, he quickly stood and removed his hat, holding it to his chest.

"How is the little gal?" he asked.

Addie smiled. "She's asleep. She did beautifully. She's fine, thanks to you. He is too."

"Had a little boy, did she?" he said looking down at the bundled baby.

Addie nodded. "Isaac, to honor her pa."

His face relaxed with a smile. "He'd like that, rest him."

"We can't thank you enough for all you did last night, Jeremy. They wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." She watched him nod but still sensed an uneasiness in him. "You're free to go, Jeremy. I'm sure the store needs lookin' after."

He dipped his head. "Are you sure she's all right? I wouldn't know what to do if somethin' happened to the little girl." She smiled. "She reminds me of my daughter, before she passed away. Precious like that don't come round every day. We gotta look after her. She's everything good in this world."

She smiled knowingly. "Don't I know it." She put a hand on his shoulder. "You can breathe easy, Jeremy. We all can. For now, at least."

.

That evening as Addie and Eliza sat by the fireplace and Addie held Isaac, Eliza went and knelt by the fire, pulling out the neckerchief that had hung on the wall the last several months.

Addie noticed what she was doing and got up, leaving the room to give her a moment alone. Eliza watched her walk away and again felt thankful for her. She looked back at the neckerchief in her hands, feeling the almost suede-like softness of the fabric between her fingers. She swallowed as she thought once more about the man who'd worn it. She held it up to her face and recognized the smell of him immediately, even after all this time.

She had to grow up. He was never coming back; and even on the off chance that he ever did, he'd proven he didn't care one jot about her. Holding on was only serving to hurt her and make her sick.

She held it out over the flames and stared, trying to bring her fingers to release their grip. Another several seconds passed, and her eyes began filling. She had thought she'd done at least a passable job of forgetting him and setting that desire aside. Thought she'd moved on, at least mostly. She'd been wrong. She'd been dead wrong.

She covered her mouth tightly as she realized she couldn't do it. She couldn't let go. She sniffed and wiped her eyes as Addie came back into the room, and she quickly tucked the neckerchief away into her bodice.


	6. 6

One Week Later

"This ain't right, Eliza," Addie said shaking her head. "You need more time before goin' back to work."

"Peroni said I could cut back on shifts while I was pregnant only if I came right back after having Isaac," she said slinging her coat on. "I bartered him up to a week. It's the only way I can keep my job. As it is it's been hangin' by a thread."

"You know how I feel about that job anyway."

Eliza smiled and pecked her on the cheek. "That it's 'pearls before swine'."

"And what about you? You're still recoverin'!"

"I'll be all right."

"You'll exhaust yourself easily. Don't let them make you carry anything too heavy."

"'Course not."

Addie bounced Isaac in her arms. "I'm happy to watch him, you know that, but how am I gonna feed him?"

"You'll have to feed him cow's milk with the bottle and sponge."

"Ain't no way in hell that's workin'," she raised her eyebrows. "You'll see. And you'll feel bad about it too."

Eliza's eyebrows crinkled together in a sorry look. "It ain't like I wanna part with him. But I got no choice. I have to keep this job, Addie. If we have any hope of…"

"I know, I know."

"We'll just give it a try, see how it works out."

"You best get goin' then."

"Thank you, Addie."

.

Just as Addie had said, Eliza found it difficult to keep up and get back in the swing of things at the saloon. She was keenly aware that Delia was doing more than her share to cover for her, but she was grateful.

That afternoon when Eliza was restocking the back shelf behind the bar with clean glasses, she heard quiet words from a voice that sent the skin on her spine freezing stiff:

"Am I still your favorite outlaw?"

She stilled, her heart dancing so wildly she thought it would jump out of her chest. She straightened and looked to her right to see Delia's grave, angry expression as she glared at the returning patron.

"Want me to deck him?" she whispered to her.

Eliza shook her head.

"Well I'm keepin' my eye on 'im," Delia said with a wary glance as she walked away.

Eliza slowly turned to see him filling her view as he stood before her at the bar. He was just as wild, burly, and brawny as her memory had served her, with his wry smirk and bright eyes gleaming back at her. She felt her jaw start to fall agape. "A-Arthur?" she breathed.

"One and the same," he smiled as he slowly looked her up and down. "You're lookin' good, Eliza. Real good."

She gently shook her head. "Incredible… Why— How are you back here, now, after all this time?"

He grinned as he shifted his weight. "Just had a pretty big score, was in the area and thought I'd stop by and celebrate, say howdy." He noticed her face harden as she looked away and tried to go back to work. "Well, I know it's been quite a while, but I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"Nine months, actually," she said curtly as she kept her eyes down.

"Right…has it really been that long?" He tilted his head. "Guess so."

He watched as she looked up at him, her chin resolute, her eyes firm. "We need to talk…Arthur."

She came around the bar and grabbed him by the elbow, walking him out the back door.

Delia followed them outside and hung back a ways, watching them from around the corner as they turned down the side of the saloon into the alley.

She watched as Eliza stood against the wall and said something to him. She saw the smirk quickly scurry from his mouth, the color draining from his face until he looked like a ghost.

When she was satisfied Eliza was fine, she walked back inside to give them privacy.

"You…you what?" Arthur said, his breathing ragged. "I'm…_what?_"

She nodded. "A father."

"Oh, god. It already…it happened? You… Kid's already here?"

"It's been nine months, Arthur. _Nine_," she said keeping her eyes on him as he turned and squirmed in anxiety. "I would've told you if I could've, believe me. It was you who left no way to get in touch, no mailing address."

"It ain't somethin' that comes natural for a wandering bandit," he said. "I ain't got no _mailing address_. I can get mail, but it ain't easy. It's always changin'." He looked at her as she folded her arms. "What is it…a boy, a girl?"

She looked down at his chest, and the corner of her mouth curled up at the thought of their son. "A little boy."

He raked a hand over his face, taking in a breath. "I mean, how can you be sure he's mine? I'm sure you must've gone round with other fellers—"

"No," she looked at him and shook her head firmly. "You're the only one…ever," she added quietly.

He swallowed. "Oh." After another moment he threw his head back. "I can't have a kid! Do you know who I am? I mean, really?!" He looked at her and immediately answered himself. "No. You don't. And we best just keep it that way."

She watched his expression flicker from disbelief and frustration to confusion and fear. "This is real," she said, feeling sad for a moment that she didn't have a man who smiled when she told him, that Isaac didn't have a father who jumped with joy at the news of his existence. "There's no changin' it, Arthur. You have a son. You can only change what you do about it now."

At her words, he stopped and squinted at her, letting his jaw hang to the side. "If this is some kinda twisted plot to get money outta me…"

She raised a hand to her face, embarrassed for him. "Only you would say such a thing," she shook her head, sighing. "You haven't seen him," she said quietly, almost to herself. "You can't possibly understand." She looked up at him. "Come with me."

She took him by the hand and went back into the saloon, releasing it to remove her apron. "I'm goin' home for the day," she said to Peroni and watched his mouth open as he began to protest. "And I don't want any lip," she eyed him harshly, pointing at him and setting her apron on the counter. "After all I've given and put up with, you owe me that."

His trap shut quickly, and the two walked out without a fuss. She walked down the street, and he followed her.

"This ain't the direction I remember," he said.

She looked down at her feet. "Miss Kessler tossed me out when I started to show." She looked up at him. "You see, I've given a lot for that night, and for our son."

When they reached Addie's house, they stopped at the gate.

Arthur made a face as he looked at the little shack covered with moss and ivy. "This is where you're livin'?"

Eliza sighed and looked up at the heavens as she pushed through the gate and went inside.

When Addie heard the front door open, she called from the back room. "He's dry as a pew-fillin' drunkard on Easter Sunday, poor thing. I tried feedin' him with the bottle and sponge, but he won't take nothin' but you. Told you this set-up wouldn't work, El—" She froze when she came out and saw the two of them, her eyes like a steady blade on Arthur. "You're him, ain't you?"

Arthur looked at the tiny crying bundle in her arms, his nerves rising.

Eliza went and took her son from her arms. "Oh, poor dear. Don't break my heart. Shh-shh. Mama's here."

Arthur watched as Eliza unbuttoned the bodice of her frock. When he saw her breast and realized what was happening, he looked away and fidgeted, rubbing his neck. He tried to avert his eyes but looked back and couldn't help but notice how tender and gentle it all was. As alien as it had felt to him at first, he slowly began to realize it was as natural and wholesome as could be. When it finally hit him that he was being drawn in and captured by an intimate moment between mother and child—and that he didn't mind it, no less—he made a pained expression.

"This is crazy," he said shaking his head. "This is downright, doggone, off-the-map crazy."

He felt a tug on his arm and turned to see the gray-haired woman who'd been holding his son earlier pulling him to the corner of the room. He looked back at Eliza as he was being pulled away, finding he was still very interested in the baby.

"You've got some real nerve showin' up back here," he heard the woman whisper angrily.

He turned back to the woman. Her eyes were like piercing daggers.

"She'd never say this to you," she said, "but I will for her: You're just a damn shell of a man. You think you're somethin' special, but—"

"No. I don't," he said, effectively quieting her. "I don't think I'm anything special."

Her face smoothed slightly. "Well she does. She thinks the sun rises and sets with you. You and I both know it don't. Far from it. So you best just stay away from her. Or you're gonna hurt her. Even more than you already done. You're a grown man; you oughtta know better! She's hardly past a child!"

"Huh," he chuckled. "Didn't seem quite so young from the angle we was lookin' at each other."

A bolt of fierce anger flashed across her face, and for a moment he thought she was actually going to hit him. "You sick son of a bitch!" she bit out in a tight whisper. "Don't you ever talk about her that way! You—you cast some kinda terrible evil spell on her."

"Sure," he smirked. "Hormones are a hell of a thing."

She pointed a finger at him. "You just keep yourself away from them, you hear me? They're too precious for the likes of you. You don't even know the meaning of the word."

He looked back at Eliza who was buttoning her bodice and coming towards them.

"Addie, would you give us a few minutes?" she said as she handed the bundle to her.

Arthur tried to get a glimpse of the babe as he passed between their arms. The woman took him and went outside, leaving the two of them alone.

"A lot's happened while you were gone," Eliza said.

"Yeah, I can see that," he said.

"Oh, you believe me now?"

"Eliza…" he groaned quietly, rubbing his neck. "I shouldn't have said what I did."

"Just so you know, I haven't just been sittin' around waitin' for you." She put her hands on her waste and just as quickly brought one of them to her face. He could see her getting agitated.

He nodded. "I'm sure."

"You made a fool outta me," she said loudly, her voice tense as a rope. "You had your way with me and left me to figure things out on my own. How could you do that? How could you _do_ that? What is it inside you that could do that to somebody?"

"Whoa, hang on, now," he said with his hands up. "Believe me, I never woulda stayed away so long if I'da known. I had no idea I was leavin' you so high and dry."

"No," she said, growing quiet. "Only had what you wanted outta me and thought you'd be on your way, and never look back."

She'd caught him in a truth, and he lifted his hands and dropped them, shaking his head gently. "It happens all the time, Eliza. I'm no worse than the next man." He watched her sigh and drop her face into her hand, and he realized it was the last thing she'd wanted to hear out of him. "I don't wanna fight, Eliza."

She looked back up at him. "Neither do I. It's just, I want you to know… Oh, I don't know what I'm trying to say. This is all brand new to me, Arthur. And I got nothing and no one. Addie's a midwife, so it…worked out. But other than that, I got no one. And it's all been so hard…without you, Arthur. Real hard."

He nodded. He'd heard her, but he was still certain he didn't understand everything she'd gone through.

The room went quiet, and he was still itching after one thing. He cleared his throat. "Can I…can I see him? The babe?"

She looked at him, and he could've sworn the corner of her mouth curled up in a half smile. "Of course. You can hold him, even. You're his father, Arthur. He's only got one." She went outside and returned with the bundle. "Sit here, in the chair," she directed him. "Be sure to get his head, like this," she said, and he immediately recognized her graciousness in showing him what he should've known to do.

He sat and immediately shifted his weight in the seat, more nervous than he'd ever been in his life. She unwrapped the blanket and set it across his shoulder, and his eyes went wide when he saw just how small he was.

"Isaac," she said as she placed their son in his arms. "After my daddy, God rest him."

He was uncomfortable for a moment, holding the little one far from him in a jagged, awkward way as though he was going to break him just by breathing.

"He's a baby, Arthur," he heard Eliza chuckle. "Not a box of dynamite."

As Arthur looked down the world went away, and he hardly noticed Eliza take a seat in front of him. He was taken completely by surprise by the sight of the tiny angel in his own arms, and several things spun through his head at once, like many trains aiming for the same crossroad in the tracks.

He watched as the baby boy curled his hands up, opening and closing his eyes. He stretched and yawned, and Arthur almost laughed when he saw not a single tooth in his little gums. He ran his finger over the glistening golden fuzz on his hairline coming down to his cheek. He was pink and wrinkly and softer than anything he'd ever felt.

His son. His very own son. He could see quite clearly that this boy was a life, a soul looking back at him, a glimmer of something otherworldly—what he'd call the closest thing he'd ever come across to a miracle in this world. Isaac was exactly what he'd never known he wanted and needed. He could hardly bring himself to believe that something he'd taken part in had produced something so pure and good as Isaac.

He'd never felt more alive, and now he knew it was because he'd never held a baby. Never in his life. Never had a reason. Reasons. For the life of him, he couldn't remember any that he'd had for anything he'd done before this moment.

Eliza sat and looked up to watch Arthur hold their son for the first time. But when she did, she was stopped in her tracks; she saw something in Arthur she hadn't seen before. As he took in the sight of their son his face smoothed of pain, anger, and woe, and she saw something like wonder and awe—close to what she'd experienced when she felt Isaac move in her belly. She hadn't realized—and she didn't think he had either—that he could be so gentle and pensive. She couldn't take her eyes off him. He was so enthralled and mystified by their son—by this beautiful, innocent life they'd created together—so clearly enraptured by love for him, that his jaw hung open and his voice was completely swept away. Besides Isaac, she'd never experienced a moment when she felt more intimate with, more connected to another human being.

She knew right then. She couldn't lie to herself: as level-headed as she considered herself, for better or worse, she was desperately in love with this man. Whether he'd intended to catch her or not, she'd swallowed his bait hook, line, and sinker; there was no turning back. He was the only one for her.

She wanted nothing more than to weep with happiness, kiss him, and rest her head on his shoulder. She tried to remain in the swell of love but felt sadness and fear nag at her, for a few reasons. She was almost certain he didn't return her feelings, and she couldn't be sure he ever would. But even more than that, she knew he could only offer so much. He'd never leave his outlaw life; she was almost sure of it. She'd have to resign herself to accepting whatever he could give—no more, no less—if she was going to keep him in their lives.

No sooner had she thought it than Arthur finally looked up at her.

"I don't wanna make any promises I can't keep," he said, "but this I swear to you: I'll do what I can. Protect you; provide what I can, for the both of you. You'll always have my help. It won't be much, but it'll always be there. We'll work somethin' out. We will. You won't have to go through this alone anymore."

She smiled and nodded, trying not to cry.

He looked back down at Isaac. "He's perfect."

"He's the reason I breathe every day."

"How can he possibly be so small?" he whispered.

"I've often wondered myself."

"Shouldn'a done that," he said so quietly she almost hadn't heard as he kept his eyes on Isaac.

"What?"

"Put him in the arms of a dangerous outlaw."

Her heart almost caved in as she began to realize just what he thought of himself.

After a few more moments of quiet, his head popped up at her. "What're you still doin' workin' at the saloon?"

She was briefly caught off guard, searching for justifications she knew she had somewhere. "Never could find anywhere else, and I need the money."

"I don't want you workin' there no more. It's no place for you."

She looked down at Isaac. "Well, Arthur, I've gotta—"

"Told you we'd figure somethin' out. Swear to me you'll never step foot in that place again. Swear it."

She looked into his eyes and nodded. "All right. I swear."

When Addie came back in, he gently returned Isaac to Eliza's arms and stood. "Well, I best be gettin' on. Got work to do now."

As he turned to leave, he saw Eliza's almost imperceptible skittish jolt and her wary, uncomfortable expression—like she'd prefer to keep him within her line of sight. He looked at her and smiled. "I'll come back. I will. I promise."


	7. 7

The next afternoon Arthur burst through the front door as Addie and Eliza were sitting by the fire, Isaac in his bassinet.

"Found you a nice place outside of town, real nice place," he said. "Pack your things. Let's go. Come on."

"Arthur…what? I—" She gently shook her head. She glanced at Addie, who was glaring at her. She got up and walked over to him, whispering. "You have to give me somethin', Arthur." Her eyes darted away, then back again. "Truth is I can't say I hardly know you. You can't come up in here and tell me to move. This is my home. Our home. I know it ain't much to look at, but I ain't about to leave it to follow an outlaw into God knows where. Understand?" She shook her head as he looked down at her. "You have to give me somethin'."

He nodded and let his jaw hang. "Ah, I…I can see what you mean." He glanced over her shoulder at Addie before turning. "Well, come on then. Let's you and me go for a walk."

Eliza grabbed her coat as the two of them made for the front door. "I'll be home soon, Addie." She saw her expression and added, "I will."

She turned to see he was waiting for her and closed the door behind her. She followed him, and it wasn't long before they were walking lock step toward the end of the street. He made a turn, and she saw where he was headed: a large oak tree with a thick branch that hung low. As they approached it, he tore a head of grain from a nearby blade of tall grass, turning and leaning back against the branch and picking at the grain like a little boy.

"What d'you wanna know?" he asked.

She hopped atop the branch next to him and made it a seat. "Tell me something about you. Anything."

He huffed. "Where should I start?"

"At the beginning."

He looked down at his hands. "My… mama…died when I was no more than four. My daddy was no good. Rotten to me, and a thievin' bastard to boot."

"Like you."

"Naw, but he got caught. There's a big difference. "

"How old were you?"

He sighed. "I don't remember exactly. Never had a firm grasp on when I was born to begin with. Might've been about eleven."

"Wait," she put a hand on his forearm. "You don't know your own birthday?"

He dipped his chin. "I know the year. Just figure I'll celebrate every day." He looked at her with a grin. "That's more than most people can say. Anyways, he didn't just get caught. He was pounded into the ground right in front of me." He pulled his hat off and looked at it. "This was his."

"You were a child when you saw that?"

He nodded. "Might not remember exactly how old, but I remember it well. And I was too young to be on my own. Can tell you that much," he said with a shake of his head as he replaced his hat. "But I made it. For a while."

"On the streets?" She was reminded of Cleo's words to her months and months ago. _Living on the streets… Ain't nothing worse. Nothing._ She looked at him and tried to imagine the child he'd been—making it alone in the cold, unforgiving, world—and her heart sank for him.

He nodded. "Until Dutch picked me up. I was about fourteen by then."

"Dutch…?"

"He's, uh… Well, he's the, uh…head of our gang."

She nodded. "Gang…"

"Dutch and Hosea, they raised me. They're more fathers to me than anything I ever had."

"Is it just you three then, in the gang?"

"Was when we started out. Ain't no more."

"How many of you are there?"

"Folk in the gang? 'Bout ten."

"So, you steal. Is it a good livin', at least?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "It…can be. Every once in a while. Like that huge haul I told you we just had. For the most part it ain't."

"Why do you do it?"

He sighed. "Well, it ain't just stealin'. It's a family, and a way of life. Dutch, you know…he's got big dreams. No one can say the way things is, is right. Fellers who got the most power and money is always puttin' the little folk in their place. Well, I ain't no little folk. The way we live, you know, it's…freedom. It's real freedom. No one can tell me what to do, not even the law. Only law I live by is my own choices. And loyalty to the gang, of course. We make our own way. Filthy rich crooks be damned."

"So…you imagine yourselves Robin Hoods, making things right by stickin' it to the wealthy?"

He smirked at her as he took out a cigarette and struck a match on his boot sole. "It don't sound so good, way you say it, but yeah, I guess. Somethin' like that."

"And you like it? Livin' the way you do?"

He took a puff and left the cigarette between his lips as he spoke. "No one ever said it was always easy, but for the most part, yes, it suits me." He squinted at her. "You sure are chock full of questions."

"You can't begrudge me that. This is life-changing, Arthur. I'll ask all the questions I damn well please," she said calmly.

He chuckled. "Fair enough."

She slouched and looked down, swinging her foot and listening to the sole of her shoe scraping the dirt as it passed. "Were you ever in love?" she said quietly.

"Well now, I don't think that's anything that concerns you." He took a long last puff on his cigarette and stood upright as he flicked it onto the ground. He stamped it and released a cloud of smoke as he looked at her squarely. "Now listen here, Eliza. I'm only gonna say this once. Don't go lettin' yourself be deluded about me. I'm a man with no love in him."

"But you felt something for our son," she cut in, leveling her gaze at him. She didn't plan to let him get away with that assertion when she'd seen it firsthand.

"Well, I… Sure, I… It's only natural," he said with a hand out. "But it's different. Just because I'm suddenly a father, and just because I'm helpin' out don't make me a good feller. I ain't. I kill people. Er…at least, I can be induced to. And I rob 'em blind. Just who I am. Now you can accept my help, or not. But the way you're livin', and where you're livin'…" his expression soured, "it's pig shit. You gotta know that."

"Ain't all that bad."

"Ain't no place for you to raise our son," he said firmly. "Now I've used that huge score money, bought you a real nice place, already bought it," he pointed carelessly. "Put it in your name. It's just sittin' there ready for ya. It's tucked away, secluded, but it ain't so awful far. You can watch after Isaac, and you won't have to work. I can come by once every few months for a little while and make sure you're both taken care of. It's a pretty damn square deal considerin' what you've got goin' now."

She took a deep breath and looked down.

He came and sat beside her, and they remained in silence for a few minutes.

"I don't even know your family name," she finally said quietly.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Morgan."

She smiled. "Isaac Morgan…" They looked at each other. "I like that."

.

Not ten minutes later Eliza was scurrying about the bedroom packing her carpetbag and readying Isaac with Addie hounding her.

"He's convinced ya, has he?" Addie said.

"I won't have to work, Addie," Eliza said as she stuffed a gown into her luggage. "You know, that job you hate? I won't have to do it anymore. Raisin' Isaac will be my one and only job. Arthur'll stop by regularly to make sure we're taken care of."

"Yeah, that ain't all he'll stop by to do," Addie grumbled. "You gon' let him make you his bit on the side, his little honey pot in his pocket?"

She slowed and tried not to look at her, feeling her cheeks warm. She went back to stuffing her luggage. "He said it's a nice quiet ranch outside town. Even you can admit I'll never get a better situation than that."

"You of all people know where his filthy money's been. How could you?!"

"Isaac. That's how. I can't control where or how he gets it."

"Eliza."

"Mercy, Addie! Isaac's his son too. Every parent deserves the chance to provide for their little one. This one came knockin' on my door, and you won't even let me have that? Because of where it came from? It wasn't even me that did it!"

Addie continued glaring at her and folded her arms.

Eliza calmed herself and looked at her plainly, trying not to touch her fingers to her forehead in exasperation. "That man. That one," she pointed firmly at the closed bedroom door, "walks back into my life outta nowhere after months of tryin' to forget him and offers a way for me and my baby boy to live good, and you're callin' me crazy? The father of my child! I'm a mother, and I'm only a woman, Addie."

"Wrong. You're one of the good ones."

Her face crumpled. "Oh, Addie, why are you sayin' this to me?" she breathed and groaned. "Don't make it harder on me." She looked at her and swallowed, saying quietly, "Because of how he got his money."

Addie's eyes were unflinching.

She stilled and finally nodded. "I know. It's bad. You're right; of course you are." She hurriedly went back to stuffing her bag, adding quickly, "But I'll make it up somehow."

"You're takin' the easy way out."

"You got no right sayin' anything like that to me. After everything you've seen me go through."

"That's right," Addie stepped in front of her as she headed for the door. "I was right there, I saw all of it. After all the time and work I put into you! To throw yourself and your child away on him! Don't do this! He's the worst kinda trouble, and you know it."

She caught sight of Addie's eyes and fought back tears. "I love him, Addie."

"Foolish girl!" Addie erupted. "You think he loves you?! He don't!"

Her brows came together. "Well, m-maybe…maybe he will."

Addie shook her head and looked at her with sympathetic eyes. "He never will. You gonna accept his counterfeit? I know you feel light and feathery right now 'cause you've got his attention, and the future feels full of possibility. But it won't last. The kinda man he is, they take your very soul into them, and don't give nothin' back. I've seen it. Ruination! That's all he is for you. And somethin' bad'll happen—somethin' real bad—'cause it always does around men like him."

She bit her lip and took a deep breath. "I choose to have hope."

"Only fools hold onto hope when everything is pointin' the opposite way, baby girl." Addie ground her teeth. "You're breakin' my heart, Eliza! You take this step, and I can't help you no more! You know that!"

She took a small gasp and swallowed back her tears as she moved past her. She heard Addie sigh behind her and looked back to see her hanging her head.

"Least I can do is send you with a few things," Addie said quietly without turning. "Whatever we talked about you takin' when you were finally able to move out. I'll send Mr. Andrews by your new place with it all, get you started off right. Goodbye, Eliza. Lord help you."

Eliza nodded and pushed through the door, Isaac in one arm and her bag in the other. She saw Arthur leaning against the threshold of the front door with a cigarette, waiting for her. When he heard her, he turned and stood straight, tossing and stamping out his cigarette.

"Ready?"


	8. Part 2: Life After Deer Head Ranch

"It's mostly furnished already," Eliza said as she walked through the spacious cabin ahead of Arthur, slowly looking around.

"Ain't it great?" he said.

"Just how did you get this place, Arthur?"

"I bought it! Truly, I did. With…stolen money…" he said cocking his head to the side and rubbing his neck, "but I bought it. Gave 'em more to hit the road yesterday and leave all the furnishings."

"How much more?" Her eyebrows came together in curiosity.

"Let's just say…they would've been fools to decline, and turns out they weren't fools."

She looked around, poking her head into each of the two rooms and saw beds on sturdy oak frames, dressers, and wardrobes. She tried to see it all as anything but foreign to her. She noticed the master bedroom had a bed in it that was double the size she was used to, and she almost asked what she was supposed to do with a queen sized bed. But she quickly swallowed her words.

"Addie was sending me with some furniture… Just a few pieces, but…my cot, his crib and bassinet, a few blankets, lamps, candles, things of the like."

"Well, you certainly won't need the cot any longer. But anything else you'd like to keep, you're free to do so."

He took her by the hand and pulled her outside to show her around the grounds. "Plenty of space for Isaac to play as he grows older, trees for him to climb up into, scrape up his knees," he laughed. He gestured to a small shack. "Got a smokehouse for when I catch you game." He pointed to a fenced area near the side of the house. "See, we'll plant you a garden here, I'll get you a chicken coop." He pointed to the barn, then the corral. "I'll get you a cow, find you a horse, get you all set up."

He looked back at her, and though he wasn't agitated, she could tell he was eager to know her thoughts.

She smiled and raised a hand from carrying Isaac to brush a piece of hair from her face. "It's perfect, Arthur. I can't say thank you enough."

He grinned. "Yeah? Really?"

She nodded. "Really."

His smile widened. "Good. I'm glad. I've gotta get back to camp, but I'll be back in about a week, make sure you're both gettin' on all right, and stay a little while. If that's all right with you."

She smiled. "That would be fine."

When he returned in a week's time, she had the place feeling more like her own.

She noticed he couldn't take his eyes off Isaac, following her wherever she carried him. That evening as they readied for bed, they looked down at him in his crib.

"You sure he's warm enough?" he asked.

"He's fine," she smiled. "Can't sweat the poor thing."

He watched closely as Isaac yawned and smacked his gums, brushing a finger on the back of his tiny closed hand.

"Can't say I'm confident I'll be anything like a good father, Eliza, but…"

She looked at him. "But here we are."

"Here we are."

"Just be here, as much as you can. Will you promise me that?"

He dodged her eyes. "Promise I'll try."

They left the room and she closed Isaac's door quietly, turning to see Arthur trying to get comfortable on the sofa in the sitting room. She went to her bedroom door and lingered as she watched him.

"Arthur, it's awful cold. Don't you wanna sleep in here?"

He lifted his head and looked at her. He quickly gathered up his blankets and went to the room. It was a different atmosphere entirely, a young woman's bedroom. The lamp cast a warm glow about the walls, and there were intricate doilies on her nightstand and dresser.

He stood uncomfortably and scratched his head. "I'll…make a pallet on the floor," he said beginning to clump his blankets together and going to the floor beside the bed.

"That ain't any warmer than the sofa. It's okay. You can sleep in the bed, Arthur."

He rose and sat on the opposite side of the bed as she stood in the lamp light and brushed her blonde hair. He watched her slow, fluid motions from over his shoulder as she pulled the brush through her silky golden strands. Everything about her was soft—her edges, the pale rosy color of her skin on her cheeks and elbows, the shade of her hair. And the way she moved… He hadn't noticed it before, but she had something like a grace to her.

He noticed her nightgown slip from her shoulder, and she pulled it back up. Backlit by the lamp, his eyes travelled over her form. He noticed the bulge of her breasts and the curve of her hips through her white nightgown and saw the light pass through her legs when she moved. His mouth tasted of cotton at the thoughts in his mind, what he wanted to do with her, and he shook his head to clear it.

Eliza noticed how he glanced down at his groin and hurriedly covered it with his forearms.

He looked back over his shoulder at her. "I know you had Isaac not a couple weeks ago. How're—" He cleared his throat. "How're you feelin' these days?"

She looked at him. "You…want the truth? Or a lie?"

He nodded and squinted at her in the light. "Truth."

Her face heated as she looked away from him. "I'm still…healin'," she said quietly. "And I'm plumb ragged," she sighed. "I didn't know a person could be this tired. With nursin' him, my body's already givin' about everything I have. Then I'm up and down with his cryin' at all hours, and everything else… I feel so sore, like I've been kicked and beaten black and blue all over."

He swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said sitting on the other side of the bed.

He heard the graciousness of the response, even if she didn't herself. "Kind of is."

She scoffed a laugh. "Well…I guess it's not only your fault."

"I'm sorry for a lot of things," he said as looked at her. "A whole lot of things, even beyond this," he gestured between them. "I mean—what I did to you. I just—mean that…I'm sorry for a lot I've done in my life. But somehow…" he looked into her eyes, "I'm not sorry for him. I ain't sorry he's here."

She was drawn like a river to the sea by his blue eyes as he spoke. "I know exactly what you mean," she said. She looked down into her lap for a moment and smiled as she looked back up at him, speaking softly, "It's hard to explain, isn't it, to someone who doesn't understand?"

His eyes widened with excitement, like he'd just realized something, or he'd just realized someone understood something about him, or both. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Her smile brightened. She bit her lip as she nodded, looked down, and looked back up at him. "Yeah."

He whispered with a smile, "Yeah."

"Everyone seems to wanna tell me what a huge, horrible mistake I made. And…maybe some of that's true. But when I look at him," she looked up into his eyes, feeling her heart swell just at the thought of their son, "I know he's not a mistake. It's like he's left an imprint on my heart. I'd give anything for him."

"I feel the same way," he said. "I look at him and no matter how he came about, I feel that out of everything in my life, I've finally done something right—one thing pure. And it's him. From the moment I looked at his face, it's like…everything changed, all my reasons. I realized everything I'd do from then on would be for him. How do you explain that to somebody who's never felt it?"

"Especially someone who thinks you ruined your life by having him?"

"Exactly." He'd tried to explain to Dutch that he knew it shouldn't have made sense, but he didn't regret Isaac, and he never could. He'd tried to tell him that if he'd seen him, if he'd met him, he'd understand. Dutch had responded by saying that it's impossible to 'meet' an infant—they can't even look you in the eye. He'd remained more or less unconvinced about the 'trouble' Arthur had got himself into and began to tease him relentlessly. As it was, Arthur wasn't looking forward to returning to camp and hearing Dutch say something like, 'That little girl you're playin' house with…she got you housebroke yet?' He rolled his eyes at the sound of Dutch's voice in his head.

Eliza smiled and gave a soft laugh. "Well…I guess you and I have that in common."

He eyed her and nodded.

She turned the lamp out and lifted her feet up into bed, pulling the quilt up over her. "Come on into bed."

"You sure about this? I don't have to sleep in the bed."

"Arthur," she groaned. "You're not gonna sleep on the hard wood floor."

He moved to the top of the bed and started to lie down. "I just thought…"

She looked up at him as he leaned on his forearm while raising the covers, catching his eyes close and clear. "Are you really gonna pretend we didn't have a child together?"

A grin grew on his face, and he looked away and chuffed. "I was just tryin'a be polite, Eliza. You won't let me be polite?"

He slid under the quilt and pulled it up over him.

"_Oh_, your feet are like ice," she whispered.

He immediately threw the quilt up and went to retrieve a couple more blankets, returning to spread them over the bed. He crawled back in and lied next to her. "Better?"

She smirked. "Your feet are still freezing."

"It'll take a while." He plumped the pillow underneath his head and maneuvered to get comfortable. He looked over to see her lying on her side facing him, her eyes shut and her arms tight to her chest, shivering. "Come here," he said.

She opened her eyes to see his arms were open.

"Come on," he said, seeing her hesitate.

She scooted into his waiting arms and immediately felt the warmth fill her.

"Your everything is freezing," he whispered. He watched her smile and he heard her breathe a small laugh. She was like a lead weight in his arms, and he thought about how exhausted she really must be.

"My…fingers…feel like they're gonna…fall off," she whispered.

"It ain't that cold in here," he drawled. He pulled her hands up to his mouth and began breathing on them. "Shoot. We oughtta get you some mittens or somethin'." When he was satisfied that he'd warmed her hands enough, he let them go.

"Thank you," she whispered.

She lied in his arms and watched his chest rise and fall, listening to both their relaxed breathing, in and out, finally matching in rhythm after a few minutes. She looked up at his face and was surprised to see his eyes were still open, though in slivers.

She quickly placed a peck on his cheek and immediately felt like a schoolgirl when she did it.

He lifted his eyelids and looked at her. He hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to feel her under his hands and do nothing about it. He brought a hand up to her forehead, running a thumb over her hairline, and plunged his fingers back into her golden hair until his hand rested gently under the base of her skull.

_If only you knew what I did every other day_, he thought. _If only you saw. You wouldn't let me touch you, much less hold you._

She reached up a hand to his face, feeling his stubble under her fingers, and thumbed the scar on his chin. She looked up into his eyes that were already looking back at her. They were like big windowpanes, and she saw what was behind them: pain, shame, courage, lust, even fear. His eyes were like a cage that held a bluebird.

_I see you. You ain't no cold-blooded killer_, she thought. _You're a bruised bird._

She was pulled into the cage, and before she realized it she was kissing his mouth. She heard him sigh as he kissed her in return.

"_Mm, Eliza_," came the moan from his throat, but something about it sounded like a protest. She drew back and looked at him.

"I'm bein' a good boy here," he whispered. "Don't make it harder on me."


	9. 9

**This chapter is accompanied by artwork done by the amazing vhenan_virabelasan on Ao3: archive of our own works/22767514/chapters/55782085**

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* * *

About six weeks later Arthur returned and walked through the front door to be hit smack in the face with the noises of boisterous wailing and something bubbling. Eliza was bouncing and patting Isaac in her arms trying to shush him.

He looked over at the stove to see a boiling pot just beginning to smoke. He ran to it, removed it, and fanned it. "You're gonna burn the house down."

"I had my eye on it."

"Right." He turned and fought through the thick fog of blood-curdling screaming to walk towards the two of them. He didn't know something so small could be so loud and piercing. Her face was ragged, her eyes pink. "He all right?" he said to her ear.

She gently wagged her head. "He ain't sick or anything, but…I've done all I know. For the life of him, he won't sleep. It's just a bad day, I guess."

When he came near her he sniffed and made a face. "Have you quit bathin'? You smell almost as bad as me."

"It ain't a job for one person, Arthur," she bit back weakly.

"This again…" he mumbled, rolling his eyes as he stepped aside.

"I'm doin' my best."

He looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sure you are, for now at least. But it'll get easier, and you'll get better." He watched her tuck her hair behind her ear and noticed how it stuck to her sweaty forehead. "All right, enough of this. Draw you a bath, and I'll watch him."

She quickly handed Isaac to him and went to her room; he could tell she was grateful he'd offered, and for the brief respite.

When Eliza returned a while later, the sitting room was still and quiet. She came forward to see Arthur sitting on the sofa with Isaac asleep in his arms. When he saw her out of the corner of his eye he looked up and smiled.

"There she is. You shine right up like a new penny," he said as he stood. "We can't have you givin' up on bathin', darlin'. Can't have that."

She smiled, trying not to be embarrassed, and took Isaac. "I can't believe you finally got him to sleep."

"Ah, little feller…" he said looking down at him as he passed between their arms. "Tuckered himself out, really."

"I was so thankful for just a moment alone," she said. "Is that horribly awful of me?"

"Nah, shouldn't 'spect so. You're the only one lookin' back at him day in and day out." He smirked as he looked up at her. He hesitated, then took his hat in his hand and pressed it to his chest as he leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. When he saw her eyes twinkle at him as he pulled back, he replaced his hat and cleared his throat. "Think I better…go chop you some firewood."

She laid Isaac in his bassinet and followed him outside to beat a rug she'd had hanging on the porch railing.

When she'd finished she let her eyes slide over to watch him work. She tried to ignore the way his strong back tapered from his narrow waist into his broad shoulders, his shirt pulling taut across them as he swung. She bit her bottom lip and winced each time he brought the axe down, feeling her body react in ways it hadn't in what seemed a very, very long time. She watched him stop and wipe sweat from his face with his forearm, and when he glanced in her direction she gasped and quickly went inside.

When he returned, she was busying herself in the kitchen. He came and stood beside her, watching as she moved. He noticed the opening of her bodice, and with his height he could just see the tops of her breasts as she reached for something. He tried to tell himself he shouldn't notice such things. But it was no use. He turned and rested against the counter, taking one of her wrists to stop her.

Eliza slowed and looked at him. He was looking back at her with half-mast eyes, like he was sizing her up to figure how many bites it would take to gobble her up. He pulled her gently to him by the wrist, and though he hesitated for a few moments, he kissed her like she'd only dreamt about for the past six weeks. He drew back and rested his forehead against hers as she caught her breath.

"I want you," he whispered.

"I'm right here," she said looking up into his eyes and pressing a hand to his chest.

He shook his head. "We…we hit the bull's-eye the very first time. We got pregnant after _one_ night, Eliza." He looked down. "As much as I…as great as Isaac is, we can't have another one. We just can't."

She looked down at his mouth. "Addie, bein' a midwife and all, she taught me all about my monthly, and how to track the cycle, and—"

He held up a hand. "I-I do not need to hear this."

"All I'm sayin' is I know when it's most likely we'd get pregnant, if we were to…" She swallowed and looked up into his eyes. "I wouldn't agree, I wouldn't say yes, if it were one of those times."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He drew back and peered down at her. "Well, what's it like now?"

She looked down at his mouth and whispered, "It's like this." She took his face in her hands and kissed him. Taking him by the collar she pulled him, and he stumbled after her into the bedroom.

They began to unbutton each other's shirts, and Eliza wrapped her arms around his neck as they kissed. She quickly got on the bed, and he hovered over her with a hand on either side of her as she began to unbutton his breeches and he hiked up her skirt. He kissed her neck as she closed her eyes, and right then they heard Isaac wail.

"Oh, he's cryin'," she whispered, pressing a hand to his chest and effectively grinding the train to a stop.

"Shyit!" he hissed as he pulled back and lifted an arm, allowing her to get out of bed. "I'm hangin' half out here!" he called after her.

She went to their son and cradled him against her shoulder, cooing to him as he cried.

"You're hangin' half out too," she heard him say when he appeared leaning against the threshold of her bedroom door. She looked down and immediately pulled the top of her blouse closed.

"You can't do that to me, Eliza," he sighed, wiping his hand over his face. "Might as well go jump in the cold river now."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Let him cry, goddamn it," he chuckled when he heard himself. "Can't hurt him." He watched as she bounced and patted their son in her arms. "Well, put him down, and…we'll see if we can't try again."

She nodded as he turned back into the bedroom.

"Don't get any of his sick on you," he said, as if just remembering, and continued back into the room. "That stuff is putrid."

When she finally got Isaac settled and asleep she laid him down in his crib, swaddled in his blankets, and went to the bedroom. Arthur was lying on the bed in his full cowboy getup, out like a log. She smiled and sighed, gently removing his boots. She changed into her nightgown and slipped into bed next to him, falling asleep in a matter of minutes.

* * *

"Someone to be kind to

in between the dark and the light."

\- Eagles, "One of These Nights"

* * *

Eliza was awoken in the middle of the night by a rustling and a warmth at her back. She opened her eyes to see a flickering candle on the dresser. When she began to turn her head, she was immediately met by Arthur's demanding mouth on hers.

While she was still on her side he whispered to her: "What's it like now?"

She felt him press kisses to the back of her neck, slipping the strap of her nightgown down to kiss the back of her shoulder. She shifted to lie on her back, and he came over top of her, kissing her again on the mouth.

She noticed he'd changed out of his clothes and was in nothing but his nightshirt, and she realized he planned to do this in their nightclothes.

She pressed a hand to his chest. "Wait, wait. Arthur. Let me see you," she whispered.

He paused and looked at her.

"Please?"

He retreated and stood at the bedside, and she pulled up to sit before him on the edge of the bed. She watched as he reached back and pulled his shirt up over his head. The sight of him in the flickering light of the candle forced her to stop breathing. She let her eyes travel over his broad shoulders and the hair on his chest, the curves of the muscles in his arms, the taut ripples of his torso. Caught up in the moment, she reached out and touched the vein on the underside of his arm, tracing her fingertips across his chest and pressing her palm against the intricate muscles in his torso and lower abdomen. Every part of him was chiseled like one of those old statues, only he was a real man—the genuine article. He was a real piece of work, and for the first time in her life she inwardly remarked on how carnal her own thoughts were.

She swallowed, feeling a low, swelling ache in the pit of her stomach, and bit her lip as she took him in. She already loved him, and loving an outlaw was difficult more times than not. But as she looked him over, she couldn't help but think it had its rare perks, and that she'd somehow struck gold.

She looked up into his face and was struck by how deeply he was staring at her, his eyes big and unflinching. From her vantage point on the bed, it almost seemed as if the corner of his mouth was curved upward in the slightest of grins, but she couldn't be certain in the dim light.

He moved to put his hands under the hem of her nightgown. Her turn had come much too quickly, and she suddenly became very worried that he wouldn't find her nearly as appealing and satisfying after having carried and delivered their child as she found him.

He slid his hands up her thighs, pushing the gown up as he went. When he reached the point where the cloth was pinned under her where she sat, he used it as an excuse to cup his hands under her ass, the flesh of his hands between his outstretched thumb and forefinger pressing into her as he went, pronouncing how tightly he had her. He lifted the cloth, and she raised her arms as he pulled it off of her.

There they were, completely bared to one another. She struggled not to cover herself with her arms.

He was so big and tall—a mountain all by himself. She'd never felt particularly short. But as he towered over her, her mind drifted to all the ways she could see they were so different. Somehow, that in itself was beautiful to her. It felt like they fit together and complimented one another. She wondered if he saw it.

She tried to quietly breathe as she sat in his enveloping gaze, as he'd just done for her.

Arthur stood, transfixed by the thought of what his life was in this moment. Here he was—far from the chaos of the gang, far from the hubbub of the smoky bars and wrangling men—about to have this innocent young woman, like a ripe peach just plucked from a tree, with their newborn son dozing peacefully in the next room. It was almost enough to cause him to chuckle to himself.

He looked at her in the dim candlelight as she sat anxiously on the edge of the bed averting his eyes and trying not to fidget. It was clear how young she was: still unaccustomed to a grown man sharing her intimate space. She was sweet and timid, soft and dainty. She was everything he wasn't. He hated to admit it even in his own head, but something about it was special. Something about her. Even at her young age she was courageous and dedicated under stress, putting others first, always thinking of their son. Taking little to no thanks. She was almost noble. He could see it. And he could find value in it.

He could see her hesitate, but when she looked up at him, he noticed how long and curly her lashes were and how deep her green eyes were. The words of her friend jumped back into his mind: _She thinks the sun rises and sets with you._

He reached behind her and loosened her hair from its tie, allowing her flaxen waves to fall about her shoulders.

When Eliza looked into his intense eyes, she saw nothing but hunger and longing.

He came close and wedged himself between her thighs. Trying to be bold, she reached her hands out to his midsection and slid them to rest on each side of him as she looked up into his face.

He bent and kissed her. It was soft, but it was all too short. He hovered near her mouth and returned for another kiss, this one deep and full, and she heard a small moan rise from her own throat. He eased her back onto the pillow, and she brought her hands around to his back, wrapping her thighs around his waste and letting her feet dangle behind him. She slid one hand up to his neck as they kissed and felt the sinews there where it met his strong jaw. Her breasts pressed tight against his chest as he moved.

She'd waited so long, and her whole entire body had been practically seeping with longing to touch and be touched by him; and now that he was so near she was terrified. Or maybe it was something closer to wild anticipation. She wasn't used to having no space between her skin and another's; it still didn't come naturally. She'd nearly forgotten just how close they needed to be to make love. Where he was now, no one had been since their newborn child two months ago. And this time was much more slow and tender than their first night together almost a year ago. She began trembling violently from head to toe with nerves and excitement, even more than she'd done that first time, and he misinterpreted it.

"Hey…you're all right," he said softly between kisses. He hesitated, and his brows drew together as he looked at her. "Ain't you?"

Not trusting her voice, she nodded quickly.

After, he gave her one last kiss on the chin. "There now. It's all over," he said as he lied chest down with his cheek on the pillow beside her, one leg remaining tangled in hers.

"I wish it weren't."

He looked at her and smiled. "You're a good kid." After a few moments he said, "How'd you end up hangin' round me?"

"You ain't so bad as you think. 'Sides, it's too late to be askin' questions like that."

"Guess so." He raised his eyebrows. "Anyways, weren't the first time; I'm sure it won't be the last, darlin'."

She looked over at him. "As long as I'm nursin' him, Arthur," she whispered. "Addie told me. As long as I'm nursin' him, there's lesser chance of gettin' pregnant. We can do this as much as we want."

He lifted his head, a smile splitting his face. "You're kiddin'."

She shook her head.

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, you can nurse him 'til he's ten!" he grinned as he came to kiss her.

She huffed a laugh. "Ain't no way that's happening," she said as he began kissing her neck. "Probably only be able to do it for about another year."

"Mm…" He mumbled as he kissed her chest, "You can nurse me too."

"Arthur!" she gasped, mortified at the thought.

He popped his head up and snickered, dodging her attempts to push him off. "Who says I'm jokin'?"

"Arthur, don't!" she quietly pleaded, her face heating. "Lie back down!"

"Oh, you don't want me to touch you? All right, fine," he grinned as he came to lie beside her.

She failed miserably at trying to keep her smile from widening as she watched him laugh. "You're awful. Just awful."

"You had the disclaimer at the outset, sweetheart."

She finally let herself laugh and hit him, wondering how one person could instigate both laughter and tears within her.

After that, there was a routine of sorts whenever he came round. After months of being surrounded by filthy, raucous men but more often than not feeling alone, he would come home riled up from a heist job or simply yearning for a woman's soft touch, and she would fill the void nicely for him. She gave herself to him, and he had her nearly whenever he wanted her: quick and unruly in the dark of night, or low, slow, and easy like honeyed tea when the afternoon sun was high in the sky.

.

The next day as Arthur was brushing his horse in the barn he warily watched Eliza at the workbench as she manhandled a piece of raw wood and tack she planned to use for one of the grips to her wheelbarrow.

He finally spoke up. "No, no, you'll—" He braced himself and winced as the wood slipped and cut her, causing her to drop it and gasp. He came to her and pulled out a handkerchief. "Here," he said, pressing it tightly on her hand to stop the blood. He pulled back the cloth for a moment to look at her hand. "Yeah—got a nice gash there." He looked around. "Keep that on there good and tight." He left her with the handkerchief to pull a couple stools from inside to rest just outside the barn door in the sunlight. "Come sit."

She did as she was bade while he went to his tools at the bench and returned with a pair of long, thin, sharp tweezers. He sat across from her and held his hand out. She eyed the tool nervously but placed her hand in his, feeling her pulse reverberate in the cushion of her hand.

Arthur peeled the handkerchief back and with it, a flap of her flesh. He looked up when he heard her hiss in pain. "Weren't holdin' it quite right. Could see that from a mile away." He brought the tweezers out and positioned them against one of the splinters embedded deep in the gash, almost apologizing for how much he knew he was about to hurt her. He proceeded to take them out one by one though it was slow and grueling, even from where he sat. He was impressed when he felt her squirm a little but didn't hear a peep out of her. He looked up to see the stinging pain welling in her red-rimmed eyes, but he knew she wasn't crying. He noticed the pinprick freckles on her nose in the sunlight before he looked back down at his work. "You all right?"

"What, this? I birthed a baby; this is nothing."

He immediately felt himself smile so bright, he had to keep from laughing. "That's the spirit." As he continued he said, "Best let me handle things like that for you."

"You won't always be there," Eliza said. She hadn't meant it in a cutting way, but his eyes flashed up and darted quickly away all the same.

"Fair enough," he said. "Oughtta be wearin' gloves to do that sort of thing, anyway. I've got a pair you can keep."

As he finished she pulled her hand back. "Thank you," she said, "for the gloves, and for…this."

He nodded. "Can't let it go foul. I'll make you a poultice you can put on it."

After making the poultice, she watched him gently wrap a bandage around her hand. She peered at him, feeling there was no possible way he could be calloused and unkind every other day. "Tell me…just what are the kinds of things you do when you're not here?" she said.

He tied the bandage and dropped her hand. "It's nothin' you wanna hear about."

.

* * *

"You only know what I want you to."

.

"Your hands can heal; your hands can bruise.

I don't have a choice, but I still choose you."

.

\- The Civil Wars, "Poison & Wine"


	10. 10

On one of Arthur's visits when Isaac was a couple months old, Arthur and Eliza were awoken by his crying in the middle of the night from the next room. Lying on his belly, Arthur immediately groaned and grumbled, covering his head with the pillow. Next to him he felt Eliza get out of bed and heard her breathe, but it didn't sound like a sigh.

After a few minutes he got up and went to see how they were getting on. He leaned against the doorjamb and watched her shush their son against her shoulder, quickly appeasing him with her lovely melodic humming and rhythmic pats, and he began to drift back to sleep.

Arthur looked at her in the moonlight: golden hair about her shoulders and unkempt, dressed in nothing but one of his button-downs but still drowning in it, the cloth ending at the tops of her thighs. She was so young, and for a moment he felt a pang of guilt for robbing her of her youth. But even so, where she was now seemed to suit her, and she seemed contented.

When she placed Isaac back in his crib he whispered, "Hey."

Eliza looked over to see Arthur standing in his long johns with his hand out.

"Come here," he whispered with a tilt of his head.

"What's this?" she put her hand in his.

He grinned. "Well, just 'cause I don't know how to dance don't mean you shouldn't be danced with." He watched her eyes light up with a smile as he brought her by the hand to him. "You ever see those ragtime players?" he said, beginning to dip and toss her like a boat.

"Oof, ow," she said when he stepped on her foot. She looked up at him with an raggedy smile. "We can go slow, Arthur."

He nodded. "All right." Keeping one of her hands in his, he brought the other to the small of her back, and the two swayed back and forth.

He began humming a slow romance tune she didn't recognize with his low, gravelly voice, and a comfortable grin took up residence on her face. She felt herself relax in his arms as their bellies brushed together. After a few minutes like that she heard him whisper.

"Can I tell you somethin'?" he said.

"Hm?"

"That experiment you cooked tonight was a real bust."

She let a rumbling laugh come through her nose.

"Couldn't stomach it. I mean, usually you're a wonderful cook, but that? It was awful. Just terrible."

She chuckled and let her forehead fall to his chest. She looked up at him with a smile. "I'll do ya one in return, Mr. Honesty Hour."

"Oh yeah?"

"You should leave the singing to the professionals." She couldn't keep herself from mumbling a giggle when she saw his expression.

"Oh-ho! That so?" he chuckled. "Like you?"

She nodded. "Isaac sure seems to think so."

"Well, you got me there."

She grinned and pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling his warmth through the soft fabric of his worn long johns and running her arms around his middle.

.

The next evening when they heard Isaac cry again in the middle of the night, Eliza moved to get up, but Arthur rested a hand on her arm. "I got him."

Dazed, she watched as he got up and left the room. After a few minutes she had to assure herself that she'd seen correct. She got up and went to Isaac's room to find Arthur patting him gently against his shoulder, just as she'd done the night before.

Arthur looked down and took in the smell of his son—a light, warm smell that no one else in his world had. He gently rested a hand to his tiny back and felt him breathe softly against his chest—in and out, in and out. He listened to him smack his lips and tongue as he slept, slumping his cheek against his shoulder. He was so fragile and helpless—needing someone there to help him do everything, even sleep. The thought gently brushed his mind that every human came into the world this way, vulnerable and dependent, in need of protection and patience—from the meek and mild to the gruff and bold—even himself. _Maybe it's to teach us something about compassion_, he thought.

When he saw her at the threshold he whispered, "It occurred to me the other night that…lovin' someone good and proper is hard work. You're the one up and down at all hours, and doin' every other thing. Didn't seem right for me not to help out when I can, when I'm here."

Eliza smiled and let her head rest against the doorjamb as she watched him pat and hush their son with sweet nothings.

She loved him. God, she loved him. She couldn't help herself. There were times he was so easy to love.


	11. 11

One morning about a month later on one of Arthur's visits Eliza smiled as she stood completely bare before him helping him dress. She tucked his shirt into his breeches and pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders as he watched her.

"So who's this feller Andrews?" he said.

"Hm?" she said as she pressed his hat on and kissed him. "You been in town recently?"

"So he's townsfolk."

She pulled back and looked at him. "Where did you hear that name?"

He looked down and pulled out a piece of paper. "Was on the porch for you."

She looked down at it. "You're readin' my mail?"

"If you're gettin' mail it means someone knows where you're livin'."

"Just Addie. She agreed to forward my mail to me." She took the paper from him and looked at it. "And anyways, this is a letter from Addie herself!"

"You've yet to answer my question," he said, thinking back on a couple of the comments in the letter: _Mr. Andrews is keen to see you… Andrews wants to know what you'll have of him._ He looked at her and came close. "I don't like the sound of him. Don't go near him."

She looked up into his eyes and felt her breathing slow. "You don't own me."

"No…" he said in a low tone, and the way he drew out the vowel almost made it sound like a question, but she knew it wasn't. He took her mouth in his and kissed her deeply. She'd never imagined kissing could be as sinful as he could make it.

He finally drew back, reluctantly releasing her bottom lip as they parted. He smirked when he watched her lean forward with her eyes closed and her mouth hanging half open, craving more. "Don't go near him."

Her eyelids fluttered open as she listened to the sound of his boots as he left the bedroom. She grabbed the sheet off the bed, wrapped herself in it, and hurried after him, her hair bouncing in her face as she abruptly stopped in the sitting room. "Andrews is the _grocer_, Arthur," she said, clutching the letter in one hand and the sheet around her with the other.

He stopped cold, hearing her pronounced breaths through her nose behind him, knowing she was just on the verge of cackling. He wished he could keep from doing it, but he couldn't fight it—he looked back to see her trying to gather a haughty expression through loose, crumbling pieces of giddy laughter and gratification. She didn't have to say a thing—he could read it in her eyes: _You kinda like me, huh?_

He lifted his eyebrows and continued walking out the door, trying to brush it off. "I'll be back in a bit," he called.

He returned that afternoon with not one horse, but two. She came through the front door and watched him goad and pull the new one by the lasso. "Hyah!" he said, finally slapping his flank and sending him running into the corral as he closed the gate door behind him.

"Found you a beauty," he said rubbing his hands together as he approached the porch.

"You _found_ him?" she said, descending the porch steps.

He nodded. "Found him roamin' the fields."

"That's a painted chestnut thoroughbred," she said wiping her hands on her apron.

"Yeah…" he said looking over at her. "How'd you know?"

"You caught me a race horse?"

"Well, you gotta have somethin' to ride around on. And your little milkin' heifer's gonna get mighty lonely in the barn," he shot her a saucy smirk and snickered when she swatted him with her rag. "When my mare ain't around to keep her company, that is."

She looked back at the horse and watched as he rambunctiously pranced around the edges of the corral. "He's beautiful."

"Yeah—only the best," he winked at her as he walked toward the corral. "He's a fine one, but an awful wild one. For now, at least."

"You gonna try to break 'im?"

"_Try?_" he said with clear disgust at the word. He chuckled as he walked toward the horse. "This horse'll be well and broken 'fore I'm done with him."

She turned and went back indoors to watch Isaac and tidy the house, but when it grew dark Arthur was still outside. She followed the sounds of harried whinnying and frustrated grunts to see Arthur still being bucked beneath the stars. When the horse threw him, he finally came inside with a snarl on his face.

"Buckin' bastard," he snipped.

.

Early the next morning when Eliza awoke and turned to stretch in the bed she was met by a soft kiss on the mouth, and she smiled groggily. Arthur tossed the quilt off and got out of bed, and she watched and listened to the usual jingling sounds of his belt buckle and spurs as he quickly dressed.

"I gotta go work on breakin' that horse," he said reading her mind before she opened her mouth. "I don't want him buckin' you when you gotta ride into town."

After he'd left, when she heard the restless whinnying and heard Arthur grumble, "_Goddamn nag!_" she sat up and changed out of her nightgown. She brought Isaac out with her in his thatched bassinet and set him on the ground by the corral fence. She climbed the boards and rested her forearms on the top rail, smiling as she watched the tug-of-war for authority between man and animal for another several minutes. The horse once bucked him so hard his hat flew off in her direction; and when it fell to the ground before her she bent and reached for it, smiling as she placed it on her own head.

"Why don't I give it a try?" she said.

"Now Eliza," he said through bucks, "I won't presume to be like your father, tellin' you what you can and can't do, but I won't lie to you: this is a fierce wild animal. He means business, and he don't tire easily. At all." He looked at her as he dismounted. "As long as you think you can handle him…"

She nodded. "I think I can manage." She climbed through the fence rails as Arthur massaged his tender hands.

Arthur hopped over the fence and turned to watch her. "Holler if it gets too much for ya."

With his hat still on her head she was already slowly walking towards the beast, who was anxiously pawing at the dirt and shaking his head. She held her hand out and softly cooed to him. "Hey, boy. That's all right. You're all right, boy."

Arthur peered at the scene as she reached out a hand and stroked his nose looking him straight in the eye, whispering to him.

"Shhh, good boy," she whispered. "Steady, that's it. Shhh." She patted and massaged the side and underside of his neck as she kept her eyes on his and shushed him. With her hand cupped she brought an apple to his mouth that Arthur hadn't even noticed she had. "Easy, boy. Ohhh…good boy. Yes. You're a sweetheart."

Arthur watched as she effortlessly reached a foot up into the stirrup and swung her leg to the other side, hiking her skirts and knickers past her knees and midway up her thighs. He raised his eyebrows; precious few times had he seen a woman mount a horse with a leg on either side while in a skirt—certainly never like that. His eyes grew heavy as he watched her in the saddle, saliva pooling at the top of his cinched throat.

His brows scrunched together and his jaw hung open as the horse suddenly gave a few soft, sullen bucks—spurts here and there—almost as if he'd forgotten how to buck, or as if just remembering that he was supposed to and wasn't really certain he wanted to at all. Eliza held steady, gripping the horn and adjusting her balance for each romp. He reared once—a halfhearted little thing—and Eliza sat forward and held the reins tight. It wasn't a full fifteen seconds before the horse was completely at peace and contented beneath her. She pulled him this way and that with the reins, and Arthur watched as she let her right hand hang loose and comfortable at her side, the way he himself did when his horse entered a trot.

He finally swallowed and raised his eyebrows, blinking. "Well, that's it then! He'll only take you, I guess. Where in the _hell_ did you learn to do that?"

She smiled and turned the horse around. "My daddy was a sailor, but my mama was a pony girl when she was young. She wouldn't let him move us to the shore. Had to have her horses and her wide open spaces. She taught me everything she knew about ridin' 'em and how to treat 'em." She reached down to pat and stroke the horse's neck. "Good boy. My boy," she said. She looked back up at him. "You gotta love 'em as much as you discipline 'em. Maybe even more." She dismounted and came toward him.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Good," she grinned as she ducked and climbed through the rails. "Don't want you to go and unknowingly mistreat my new horse, after all. Or yours, for that matter."

He turned to her. "I tuckered him and broke him halfway for ya."

She put a hand to his cheek and grinned. "Sure you did." She picked up Isaac in his bassinet and began walking towards the homestead.

Still dazed, he looked back at the horse, whom he could've sworn was looking at him with an evil gleam in his eye.

He turned and went after her. "Whoa, whoa, hang on there…" he mumbled, practically skipping to catch up with her. He took his hat back from her head. "Ain't it about time for his nap?"

She smiled brightly at him. "It can be if we want it to be."

He nodded with a tilt of his head. "I'd say the clock is tellin' us it's about that time."

"Oh, the clock is, huh?" she laughed. She took Isaac to his bedroom and began rocking him to sleep.

Minutes later she heard Arthur's belt buckle rattle and his deep voice say from a distance through the cracked bedroom door: "Put the kid to bed already, Eliza."

She smiled as she looked down at Isaac's slivered eyes. _Some things you can't rush_, she thought.

When she finally got him to sleep and went to her room, Arthur practically pounced on her, jamming her up against the wall and immediately kissing her neck. "There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza…" he sang and mumbled as he kissed under her jaw.

She groaned a laugh and felt him chuckle against her cheek. "Just what are you gonna do about it, cowboy?" she said and felt him quickly begin undressing her. She took a deep breath as he finally kissed her on the mouth. She felt his hands run over her as he continued pulling her clothes off, and once she even heard a small rip. "Arthur," she brought her brows together. "I only have so many gowns."

"I'll get you some new ones."

"Here, let me," she said, trying to reach her stays. But she wasn't quick enough for him. He fumbled as she lifted her arms, and he managed to pull it off the rest of the way without tearing it as she shimmied her pantaloons off. Having rid them of the hurdle, he brought his hands to her neck and kissed her with renewed singularity of purpose.

She smiled. "A cowboy left to his devices…" she said as his hands left her neck to travel over her skin. "Careful, Arthur. Even kisses can lose their charm if you enjoy them too often."

He looked up into her eyes and grinned, leveling his eyes at her. "_You…_" he kissed her again, his grin widening. "Somehow I doubt that very seriously."

She laughed.

"He may be a good boy," she heard him say as she felt his tongue in the crook of her neck, "but I'm a bad one, darlin'."

She couldn't believe he'd said it and almost immediately burst into laughter, it was so flamboyantly bawdy and off-color. Deciding to play along, she gently bit his earlobe and whispered to him, "Prove it."

.

That afternoon Eliza lifted her head to find she'd been lying on Arthur's shoulder with her hand on his bare chest and his arm outstretched behind her. She didn't even remember falling asleep. But she had no trouble remembering everything before that. She looked up into his face to see him just waking when he felt her rustle against him. She was pleased they'd awoken gently from napping rather than darting awake to Isaac's sudden cries.

When he realized the way they were positioned, he pulled his arm from around her. When he caught a glimpse of her eyes, he smirked as he stretched and she lied on the pillow beside him.

"So 'd I do it?" he said as he scrunched up his face and yawned. "Did I manage to prove myself a very bad man?"

She shot him a look and shook her head, trying to keep a smirk from appearing at the corner of her mouth. "You've got to stop saying that."

"Why?" he grinned, leaning close. "Ugh, god, Eliza," he groaned. "You got no idea what it's like, goin' so long without you, without this…"

She felt herself melt when he rested his hand on her lower abdomen while he kissed her, so free and easy, like it was meant to be there all along.

"Oh, I've an inkling," she said. After weeks or months of living like a nun in a cloister, he'd come rolling back into her life like a thick thunder cloud from the west. And most times they'd go at it like lovers living their last days on earth.

"Just plumb survivin', darlin," he grinned with a gentle shake of his head before leaning close to kiss her again.

"So you think of me when we're apart?"

"Well, sure. Both of ya."

"You get lonesome for me?"

He grinned and slowly nodded.

She matched his smile and was flooded with goosebumps when he was suddenly on her, kissing her chest. "It's unseemly, Arthur," she squirmed.

"What is?" he murmured against her skin.

"To lie in bed all day."

He looked up at her with a wry grin. "That ain't all we been doin'."

She couldn't keep her smile from brightening as she swatted him. "Even worse!"

He dodged her hand. "We broke in a goddamn wild horse this mornin'!" He stilled and cleared his throat. "And then…" his smile went wobbly, "each other." When he saw her expression, a rolling snicker burst through his nose. "Just think of it as makin' up for lost time," he mumbled as he went back to kissing her chest. "Maybe we could break some kinda record."

She let a soft chuckle escape her as she watched him. She'd been branded hot with the mark of Cain, and it made her nothing more than a child playing with fire. But oh, she loved the way it felt to burn. Never in a million years would she have thought she'd be lying bare in an outlaw's arms, the both of them unable to get enough, never satisfied, always chasing after more. She pushed the thought away that they were just chasing after different things.

He sat on his knees and brought her thighs around him, looking down at her as he put his hands on either side of her midsection. He leaned down and kissed her lower abdomen, slowly working up her torso.

"Oh…no, no. Oh, god. No, Arthur. W-we can't do this all day. We just can't." He ignored her, and she shivered when she felt his tongue. "No…" she moaned, biting her lip as she listened to his lips smack against her skin. "Don't. _Please_…" she breathed a choppy laugh. Her breathing quickened the closer her got to her breasts. She felt herself ball up the sheet in both of her tight fists. "I…" she swallowed. "I have to check on Isaac," she whispered. "Oh, _god!_ We'll _never_ get out of bed. Arthur!" she whined. "Stop. Seriously, stop!"

When he came up to kiss her again on the mouth, she let herself smile. After all, it was her he was kissing—no one else. And she didn't have anything like powder, rouge, or fancy perfume to allure and entice him—still he came running. And he never had any trouble getting excited. All that bouncing around in his saddle hadn't damaged a thing; she could attest that his body worked just fine. And he knew just what to do with a woman's body. He almost always seemed to know just where and how she wanted to be touched. It was the rare exception that she had to show him.

"Mm…your scruff is scratchin' me," she whispered between his kisses.

"Oh yeah?" he smiled, continuing to kiss her.

"Yeah," she said softly with a smile and a nod, biting her lip.

He brushed his cheek against hers, garnering a mumbled giggle. "Hm…well, you're soft and warm." He slowly kissed the corner of her mouth, teasing her until he knew she couldn't take it anymore and returned his kiss full on the mouth. It was all he needed to kiss her so deeply she started to lose her breath. She finally pulled back, and he groaned when he felt her begin to rustle out from under him. "Don't do it. Don't get up," he whispered, planting another kiss on her.

"And your breath is rank," she said, pressing a hand to his chest and gently pushing him away as she got up.

Dejected, he flopped back and slumped against the headboard. "Yeah, why you think?"

She stopped cold, her eyes going wide as she looked back at him. "Oh. Arthur…no, please…" she whispered, trying to stop him from referencing it further. She shivered at the memory of him pressing soft kisses to the inside of her thigh, working his way up. When she'd first realized how low he was going, she'd panicked and asked him what he was doing. _Relax_, he'd told her. But she'd found it hard to do until she felt it for herself. She'd never even thought of doing anything like that before.

Arthur watched her face go beet red and her eyes turn to pleading. He chuckled wheezily as he leaned back, pulling out a cigarette. "You know, I will never understand you people with your propriety." He left it between his lips and mumbled as he spoke, striking a match. "As if talkin' about doin' somethin' is so much worse than actually doin' it. Ain't like you didn't seem to enjoy it."

"Arthur! Please!" she said in a strained whisper.

He looked at her and shrugged, his eyes going wide. "Ain't even anyone around! Who's gonna hear, God? Jesus!"

She nodded and huffed an incredulous laugh. "Yes, both of them. The Father and the Son. Thank you, Arthur." She smirked and shook her head as she watched him light his cigarette. "You're somethin' else."

.

That evening after they'd done more work around the grounds, Arthur went back into the bedroom and closed the door. Eliza didn't take much notice and started to work on supper; but when she was finished, he still hadn't shown. With Isaac on her hip, she went to the door.

"Arthur? You comin' to supper?" When he didn't answer, she turned to leave him be. When she considered knocking, she turned back around and almost bumped into him.

She gazed at him as he filled the doorway, taking a short, quiet breath and holding it. He'd shaved his face completely, doing away with the stubbled beard, and had pomaded his hair. He had a vest on over his opened button-down, and he even smelled of something pleasant and spicy…sandalwood? She took in his features—his sharp, chiseled jaw; his thick lower lip; his bright, crystalline blue eyes; his short hair parted deeply and swept to the side, shining and slicked back, the pomade bringing out the golden hues in his light chestnut locks. She was even a big fan of the growing crows' feet around his eyes, feeling they only made him more handsome. Even with his scars and sun-touched skin, he was nothing short of a dream. He made her so weak for him. She couldn't tell if he had any sort of clue what a vision he was.

He started fidgeting under her gaze. "What?" He reached up a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't like it?" He lifted one of his shoulders. "Quit gawkin' at me like that." He scrunched up his nose, and his expression slid to one side. "_Ah_… I knew it was silly—"

She rose on her tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on his lips, lingering near him even after they'd drawn apart with a hand on his cheek.

He grinned. "Hm… She likes clean-shaven Arthur, huh?"

She smiled and nodded. "Very much. I like you every way; just never seen you like this before, all done up."

"Well, all right then," his grin brightened. "Just don't get used to it—it's a damn chore."


	12. 12

"So excuse me, darlin',

while my heart explodes.

I'm in the cage I've chosen

'cause it feels like home."

\- Needtobreathe, "Disaster Road"

Arthur wasted no time in contacting Mary; he left a note in the drop the next day. When she failed to meet him that evening at their oak tree, he tried to chalk it up to her inability to get away. He left notes in the drop each day for the next few days, becoming anxious. When he went to leave a note on the fourth day, every one of his recent notes fell out into his hand.

Anger, confusion, frustration, and fear flooded him all at once. He both dreaded and hoped that perhaps she was terribly ill or injured, rather than what his rational mind was telling him. He could feel her slipping away from him.

He immediately mounted his horse and set off for her family's ranch. When he got there, Mary's father immediately came out of the door, preventing him from accessing the front porch or going any further.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" her father slurred. It was immediately clear he'd been drinking, and too much this time.

"I've gotta see her," Arthur said.

"You've got some nerve! You just take yourself off my land, before I take you off," her father grumbled.

"Please—" Arthur began, thinking he'd need to try to communicate how desperate he was without explaining that he hadn't seen or heard from Mary in over two days, which was highly unusual, but just then Mary stepped through the front door.

"Arthur?" she said.

"Mary," he sighed when he saw her.

Her father stumbled back inside.

Arthur continued, "I thought you might be hurt or—"

"You shouldn't be here," she said quietly but firmly.

The similarity of her words to her father's caught him off guard, and his brows knitted together as he looked at her with confused, pleading eyes.

She blinked and frowned, but held his gaze. When she spoke again, her voice was slightly shaky. "Please. Leave."

Arthur's jaw fell as he studied her, trying to understand. Mary mouthed the words _at the drop_ and nodded to him.

Right then her father came stomping through the front door with his shotgun in hand. Arthur raised his open hands.

"You get the hell off my property!" her father shouted. He leveled his stare at him. "If I ever see you back here, I'll blow your goddamn head clean away! See if I don't!"

Arthur clenched his jaw and slowly backed away.

* * *

"I'm sorry I've been hard to pin down," she said to Arthur when they were standing alone in the woods. "You deserve answers."

"You betchyer daddy's shot glass I do," he said. "Mary, you let me worry the most horrible things!"

"I know! I'm so sorry! It's just…daddy's been so volatile lately, and...with your admission the other day, I've been…thinking."

"Oh yeah? What about? You know that never got anyone any good," he said, trying to lighten the mood. But the look in her eyes told him his efforts hadn't changed anything. Or everything had changed. For once, he couldn't tell what she was thinking by her eyes. He needed her to open her damn mouth. He felt his stomach go queasy. "Mary, you're scarin' me here."

"Arthur..." she groaned. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about this."

"About what, damnit! Out with it!"

"About us! About you and me! About how this is possibly going to work!"

It was exactly what he didn't want to hear. "Wha…what are you saying? You sayin' you don't wanna marry me no more?"

"I'm saying…" She looked like she was about to vomit. "Ugh, I'm sayin'… I had no idea you could commit such heinous and brutal atrocities, Arthur! I didn't realize you had it in you. I knew you to be a kind man, a good man."

"And what if I'm not the man you thought I was? What if I'm not a good man? What of your love then? Is it truly strong and steadfast? Or is it flimsy, rather?"

"It's not that simple, Arthur!"

"And it's not that difficult, is it? To be as good as you? I'm not you, Mary."

She frowned. "Stop mocking me, Arthur. I never claimed to be high and mighty. And it wouldn't take much for you to change."

"It does when you've lived the way I have, for as long as I have."

"But don't you see? You already have a good heart. You just have influences in your life that are taking you down a wrong path, a cold and malicious path. All I'm asking is that you choose right. And I'll be here when you do, but not before."

He was stunned. "You can't ask me to give up everything I know, the people who raised me, my family."

"I can, and I am," she said sternly.

He waved his hands in exasperation. "Can we—" he sighed, shaking his head. "Look, can we just go back to where we started? Please?"

"Arthur," she sighed. "I wish I could go back and un-learn what I know, but I can't. We're here. You'll always be my friend. I know you've wanted marriage as much as I do. But marriage is not just fanciful feelings and making love," she said. "It's walking through life together, through the good and the bad, the rough and the joyful seasons. It's committing yourself to one another, wholly and completely."

"I know that," he said indignantly. "I want everything you just said and more. I never planned on this. I never planned on marryin' anybody. But then you came along, Mary, and you—you just… This is a good thing, Mary. This is good love. This is the kind of thing that only happens to a person once in their lifetime. I've been around long enough to recognize it when I see it."

"Oh, Arthur. We just…we never gave a thought to how this would work."

"Slow down. Now, hear me out. Holding your hand when you're ill," he said taking her hand and looking into her eyes, "protecting and providing for someone who loves me just as much as I love her, a chance to grow old together, a chance to watch our children and grandchildren grow. For me, that only works with you." His desperation began to show as he gestured firmly with his hands. "That only happens, in my life, with you. Do you understand? Don't take that away from me."

"But you want both, and it doesn't work that way, Arthur."

"Well, you want everything to fit in a nice, neat box, and it don't work that way neither."

She sighed. "You can't live the way you do and have a family." She looked at him as he looked away. "How are we going to sustain a marriage while we only see each other once every several days, if that? How are we going to raise children if most of the time you're off god knows where, doing god knows what? Coming back to them after having your hands in some poor innocent's blood? I won't have it, Arthur."

"Well, obviously you'd come live on the road with me," he said.

She froze. "That's where you're wrong," she said firmly. "I will never support your way of life. I will _never_ take part in what you do."

"Come on, Mary, you won't have to," he said. "There's women in the gang who don't hurt people; they just steal a little here and there to support themselves." He eyed her as he said quietly, "You've already done that once, I believe." He lifted his chin and peered down at her. His voice became distant and heavy as he said, "I won't hold it against you."

The cool breeziness of his words flew like a mist down her back. How quickly he had forgotten the reason she'd done it. She was beginning to see how callous and unforgiving Arthur could be.

"You're missing my point," she said. "Everything I've said is to say that I cannot be the wife to…" She caught sight of his clenching jaw. "I cannot stand by while you ruin, destroy, and take lives. Much less be your wife while you do it. I refuse."

"Oh, you and your precious morals, Mary! Ain't everything in the world so black and white! Ain't a pretty truth, but it's the truth, just as sure as I'm standing here! From the first moment I can remember, I've been doing what it takes to survive. Ain't had the milk of mother's kindness to guide me! Or maybe it'd be better for everyone if I never had been born! 'S that what you'd prefer?"

"No, no! Of course not, Arthur! Don't make me out to be a villain! I never said such a thing!" She stepped closer and gently took his face in her hands. "Your life is very, very precious to me, Arthur. That will never change."

She searched his eyes, looking for some semblance of the sorrow she felt, rather than his fiery anger. She looked down and shut her eyes tight, trying to even her breathing, but it was no use. She'd have to say it through the tears. She looked back up at him, and her lips trembled as she said slowly, "Oh, Arthur. You're forcing me to choose between the heartbreak of living with what might've been, and the heartbreak of a murdering husband." Her tears came in unrelenting torrents now. "With such choices, what decision do you expect me to make?" She sniffed and shook her head, taking a step back from him and letting her hands fall to her sides. "I think it would be best for us both if…if our engagement were quietly forgotten."

"_No_," he whispered through a ragged breath, balling his fist. "No, see, I can't just do that. I can't forget."

"Arthur, _please!_" she cried. "This is not easy for me. As long as I live, I will love you, Arthur." She reached out a hand to him. "That's what hurts most—"

"_Don't_," he snapped, "touch me. Don't you touch me."

She blinked, and her eyes went wide at the frightening realization of just how wounded and angry he was. He looked away and shook his head; and she watched as he seethed, his jaw clenching. When he turned back to her, he had a thicker rim of tears at the bottom of his eyes than she'd ever seen on him.

"I would've given myself to you," he said. "Totally and completely. But that's just it, ain't it?" He shook his head. "I'm not enough." He took a step back. "And I never will be. Will I?"


	13. 13

"It's getting harder to breathe

chain-smoking your love.

Can't be good for my sanity,

can't be good for my lungs,

Chain-smoking your love."

\- Jacob Banks, "Chain-smoking"

.

While in the middle of sex one afternoon, Eliza asked Arthur what he was thinking.

"What?" he said.

"What's in your head right now?"

"Nothin'."

"There has to be something."

"You don't wanna know."

"Come on! Just tell me."

"I'm thinkin'…about how I'm gonna get to that spot you like so well," he said with a grin.

"That's _all?!_"

"Told you you wouldn't like it."

"You don't think of anything?" she said with a hasty breath. "My head's reelin' right now!"

"Well, sure, I think plenty, but I try not to when we're doin' this, hun!"

"I'm wonderin' if there's any hope for me at all, or if I gave it all away too soon."

"_What?_"

"I gave it and you took it, and that's fine; but I keep givin' it and you keep takin' it, and maybe it's because I'm selfish. But I want you, Arthur, I want you all the time…"

"Honey, believe me, I'm tryin'a scratch your wantin' place!"

"…And oh, how I miss you while you're away, and…"

"What are you ramblin' on about? Why're you…" he sighed as he kissed her. "You gotta quit thinkin' so much, darlin'."

"I can hardly help it, Arthur, I—" Her brows drew together and she moaned, digging her fingernails into his arm.

"There it is," he said with a bright smile. "Found it."

Afterwards, he pulled his arm out of her embrace. "Don't clutch to me like that. Don't."

She frowned. "You have to give a woman somethin', Arthur." _Somethin' like hope_, she thought, _to know she ain't a play thing, and nothin' more._

"Well, I ain't the sort," he said as he sat up. _And I don't want you gettin' the wrong idea_, he thought, _that this is different or more than what it is._

She lied back in the bed and picked at her thumbnail, trying to concentrate on something—anything—less painful. She wondered if he knew how much it hurt when he pushed her away. Every once in a while he'd get in a mood where he'd make sure she knew he didn't have any desire to cozy up after sex. And he didn't always have to; but he did it with his words—put a wall between them. And that was something he seemed so easily to be able to do.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and finally decided that for once she'd say just exactly what she felt: "I never thought I'd end up the type of girl who gives herself away without ever possessing even a part of her lover's heart."

He turned his head and looked back over his shoulder at her on the pillow. "If it makes it any…" He sighed and turned back around. "I don't think I planned on makin' you one."

And there it was. Her suspicions confirmed. She hadn't expected how hard it would be to breathe after hearing it. She was beginning to learn what it was like to love him: it was like trying to get honey off of your fingers when you had no water around—it stuck to you, this kind of pain. She looked down and swallowed. But what was life without honey?

.

Later that evening when it was time for bed Arthur was standing outside the latched bedroom door after having said something snide and cutting at supper.

"Eliza…" he drawled. "Come on, hun, let me in."

"_No_."

"Don't tell me no. Open up, come on now," he said calmly.

"_You just set yourself on the sofa_."

"It's awful cold out here. 'Member?"

"_So get a fire going_."

He heard her mumble something he couldn't make out. "Just…open the door, will ya?"

Quiet.

He looked over at Isaac in his bassinet. "You…you left Isaac out here. You know you ain't a bad mama. You're gonna have to open up and come out at some point."

"_Yeah, and you're gonna leave at some point_."

"God…god_damn_ it!" he clenched his teeth and suddenly gave a small pound on the door. "This is gettin' old real quick, now! I paid for this place!"

"_I just knew you'd throw that in my face sooner or later. And don't you dare use Isaac against me_."

"You know I could force my way in if I wanted to."

"_Go ahead. Make me hate you even more. You can't muscle your way outta this, Arthur_."

He sighed. "Ah…Eliza…" He rested his forehead against the door and placed an open hand to it. "Son of a bitch!" he quickly hissed.

"_What!_"

He ducked. "No! No, not…not you— _Me!_" He shook his head. "I ain't… I ain't very good at this. Never have been."

"_What, apologizing?_"

"No, I— Well, I guess that too…" he grumbled. _Lovers' quarrels_, he thought as he turned, pressing his back against the door and slumping to the floor. He lifted one of his knees and rested his arm across it, sighing again. "We gotta get better at this, darlin'."

"_Better at what?_"

"Talkin'. Can't be like this every time." _We're just fine at the other thing, but we ain't so good at talkin_', he thought. He could very clearly remember their bare bodies lying next to each other just that afternoon, and he knew she could too. Looking back on it, he tried to remind himself that for a young girl, her being so physically vulnerable and open with him was probably special to her. He leaned forward and groaned as he wiped both hands over his face. He knew she was probably embarrassed just by being in this moment and being able to think back to it so recently. He had a real bad habit of bungling things up.

"_This is only the first time like this. You're just upset 'cause for once I ain't takin' your bullcrap_."

"You're right, I know…" he nodded and hung his head. "I…I know ain't none of this…_normal_. I know it can't be easy for ya, bein' without a soul to talk to 'sides Isaac most of the time, unless you go into town. I never know the right words to say, or…how to be…" He grumbled. "I should be…different. But I ain't. 'Spose I do deserve it." He perked up when he suddenly heard her voice again, close to the door, though it was quiet.

"_You can really make me feel so small and little. And it's so silly, Arthur. What are you even on about when you get like that?_"

He sighed.

"_You hurt me, Arthur. And I can expect better outta you. How's that for talkin'? I don't have to take it when you have a mind to be such a prickly, mean ol' jackass._"

"I know! I—" he pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. "Sometimes it just spills outta me, darlin'. You…" He shook his head. "You just oughtta ignore most of what comes outta my mouth, hun. If not all of it. Keep tryin'a tell ya I ain't a nice feller." He rested his head back against the door. "I'm just a…bitter ol' bastard." He chuckled in spite of himself. "Twenty-five, and I'm already cold and bitter inside. That's all."

He heard her sigh. "_No, Arthur…_"

The door suddenly opened, and he fell back with a thud as she looked down at him.

"Is that your version of an apology? Closest I'munna get, huh?" She shook her head. "Disparagin' yourself ain't no kind of apology." She looked up and stepped past him. "Isaac…"

He sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

She came back with Isaac in her arms and sat in front of him on the floor. "I don't hate you. I'm sorry I said that."

He smirked and shook his head. "Only you would apologize for somethin' so small. And to someone like me."

She looked down at Isaac in her arms and looked back up at him. "You really think I'm a good mama?"

He gave a small grin. "Best I've seen." He caught himself and tilted his head. "And I know that ain't sayin' much, but…still true." He saw a rosy smile blossom on her face as she looked back down at Isaac, and he couldn't help but match it. He took a breath. "I'm sorry for what I said too."

She looked back up at him. "I don't make a habit of holding grudges, Arthur. It's all forgiven."

He took in the fetching sight of his son in her arms. It was so easy to find his way back into her good graces. He thought not for the first time that if he was going to accidentally become a father by anyone, how lucky he was that this woman was his child's mother.

* * *

When Arthur returned on his next visit, he came through the front door in early evening to find the entire place dark and still. He took a lamp and popped his head into the baby's room first. Isaac was asleep in his crib, but Eliza was nowhere to be seen. He went to her bedroom to find her in bed on her side covered up to her chin, her face white.

"Eliza?" he whispered. "Place is so quiet, you had me frightened there for a moment. You all right?"

"I'm in a lot of pain, Arthur."

The way she'd said _a lot_ drew his brows together, and he came closer. "What's wrong? You sick?"

She shook her head. "I'm just the way I'm s'posed to be."

He stripped down to his long johns and got in bed beside her, lying on his side facing her. He felt something wet and sticky on the sheet and brought his hand up to see his fingertips covered in bright red.

"Darlin', you're _bleedin'._" He opened the quilt to see a big red spot on the sheet. His chest constricted, thinking for a brief moment that she'd been shot. But there'd be much more blood, and she would've told him.

"It happens," he heard her weak trembling voice say, "but never ever this bad before."

"It…what?" And just then he put the pieces together.

"I'm sorry," he heard her cry out as she covered her face in her hands. "I didn't know what to do when I saw you. I'd hoped and prayed you wouldn't come tonight, of all nights."

She sounded like a fly squirming under a pin against a window sill. He realized that she was apologizing for letting him get in bed. That she would've cleaned herself up and got right in the morning, and if he hadn't come tonight he'd never have seen her like this and been none the wiser. He looked over at her back as she cried. She was beyond embarrassed—she was horrified. But she was too exhausted and in too much pain to do anything about it.

Eliza felt him get out of bed and opened her eyes to see him leaving the room. She buried her face in her hands and quietly sobbed. A few minutes later she felt a warmth on her arm.

"Shh," she heard.

She opened her eyes to see Arthur sitting in front of her.

"Can you sit up?" he said.

She looked down to see a mug in his hand. She slowly pulled herself up, gripping her belly.

"Here, this'll help," he said handing it to her.

She took a few sips, feeling the warm liquid slide down her throat and soothe her from the inside out. She immediately started to feel a little better. "What is this?"

"Valerian and a special tonic. I put a few bottles in the cabinet for you." He took the mug, set it on the dresser, and stood. He slid his arms through hers and pulled her to a standing position. "Up you go."

When she slumped against his shoulder, she heard him cluck his tongue. "Your nice cotton nightgown…" he whispered. "We'll have to get you a new one, darlin'," he said rubbing her back as he walked her to the other side of the room where a porcelain pitcher of water and washcloths sat on the vanity. "Go ahead and clean yourself up; we'll get you a bath in the mornin'. I'll work on the bed."

Her brows came together as she tried to figure what he could possibly mean. When she turned with her mouth open to protest, he'd already removed the sheet and was scrubbing the spot on the mattress with a wet rag. She watched as he worked hard at scrubbing. "Oh, Arthur…" she breathed to herself and shook her head with a hand on the side of her face. She watched as he pressed a dry cloth to the spot and finally flipped the mattress.

Several minutes later the two were sitting across from each other in the sitting room in front of the fire with mugs in their laps, Eliza wrapped in a big blanket.

"Don't seem right," he said. "That you should carry him, birth him, _and_ have to go through this over and over again."

"It's all part of the same package," she said. "Can't have one without the other." She sipped from the mug. "Some ladies have it worse than others. Some get better with time, some worse. I've never had it as bad as it was tonight. Even the light hurt."

He lifted his eyebrows. "I thought for a moment you'd been shot. I tell ya, it resembled the life blood seepin' out of a poor soul on the ground. We men only shoot at each other to get the likes of that. You've gotta deal with it every month?" He shook his head. "And you survive it, no less. Seems you're more fighter than you get credit for."


	14. 14

From the writer: An animation I wished we could see in the game was Arthur tasting something spicy. So I wrote it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

.

.

One morning when Eliza went outside carrying Isaac, she found Arthur had returned and was sitting in the long wooden swing at the end of the porch.

"Arthur, where did you get a stogie?" she said with a smile as she set Isaac down gently on the porch with his toys and came towards him.

"Ain't tellin'," he said putting both hands behind his head.

She pulled it out of his mouth. "Well, you look ridiculous—"

He caught her by the wrist, wheezing a chuckle and shaking his head. "Now, now, don't test me, woman," he said taking the cigar back between his teeth. "Don't do that."

She saw the gleam in his eye that he couldn't hide though he'd tried to seem imposing. She grinned and let go, and he released his grip on her wrist.

She sat beside him and watched him take a couple more puffs as he retreated into the back of the seat. He looked over at her, and she didn't realize she'd been staring until he said, "You wanna try it, don't you?" Before she could answer he was holding it before her face. "Here."

She looked at the cigar and back at him.

"Go on."

She gnawed at the inside of her cheek before leaning forward and taking a long, deep pull. She felt a fire burn through her throat and shoot into her lungs and immediately coughed and spurted, sucking in big, coarse, ragged breaths as her face went red.

He sat up. "You all right? Jesus," he said putting a hand to her back. "L-lift your arms up." He returned the cigar between his teeth, taking one of her arms and lifting it high above her head as she heaved and gasped. "Come on now, damn it, get some air flow."

She put her other hand to her chest as she coughed. "How did you ever do that the first time?" she rasped.

"Come to think of it…" he said, beginning to smile bright, "it was probably just like that," he laughed. "'Cept I was much, much younger. I've had a hell of a lot of practice."

"Never…never again," she wheezed. "Closest I'll ever come is kissing you after you've had it," she said as her breathing evened out. "It's awful. You're lucky I don't get sick all over you."

He smirked as he returned the cigar between his molars and began to sit back. "Hm. Well. More for me."

"When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago."

"Oh, I didn't hear your horse."

"Rode up quiet. Didn't wanna wake you."

She smiled and put a hand to his cheek as she got up. "Well I'm glad you're here."

.

Later that afternoon as Eliza was preparing a pot of stew, she left it on the counter when she heard Isaac whimpering. Arthur took the opportunity to taste it and decided it needed something else. Opening the cupboard and seeing a bottle with a red label, he grabbed it, uncorked it, and immediately poured most of the contents into the pot. When he saw her returning, he quickly returned the bottle and closed the cupboard.

Eliza took the pot to the fireplace and hung it over the fire. She left again, and he stirred it. When he knelt to get a whiff, he made a face. It smelled different than he thought it would. He straightened and returned to the cupboard, pulling out the bottle. He uncorked it and sniffed it, lifting it and dumping some of the red liquid into his mouth.

He immediately wished he hadn't. Eliza returned to the room as his eyes shot wide, his mouth flooding with a burning and stinging that surely came from the pits of damnation itself.

"_Oh, god!_" he panted and squirmed, his eyes watering and his cheeks gathering sweat. A few expletives shot out of his mouth, and he started shaking his hands and jumping around like a flea. "What in the hell _is_ that?! And why do you have it around?"

"What? What are you talkin' about?" She came to the kitchen counter and found the bottle on its side, completely empty. Her eyes grew as she looked up at him. "This is hot sauce! Arthur!" she whined.

"It came outta Lucifer's asshole, whatever it is." He leaned over and gripped the counter, panting and sputtering hard. "Oh, god. I need somethin'. Water. I need water."

"Leave ya alone for two minutes!" she said as she grabbed the pitcher of water from across the table and went to pour him a mug, but he quickly took the pitcher from her.

He groaned and stamped his foot as he poured the water into his mouth.

She tried to keep from smiling but couldn't. "What did you think it was?"

He gasped. "Tomato sauce, ketchup! Anything but that!"

She shook her head and laughed. "You've never tasted anything like that before, have you? Did you even know it existed?"

He took another gulp of water. "Do you hate yourself? Why do you have that around?!"

"My pa used to bring it back from his travels; I grew up with it. I had a real bad cravin' for it while I was pregnant, so Addie was kind enough to have it ordered from Lemoyne."

"You had that delivered all the way from _Lemoyne?!_ What a waste of good cash!" He coughed and wagged his tongue. "Ugh. Pain. It's…oo, pain. How long does this last?"

She tried to follow his pink eyes as he fidgeted. "You couldn't possibly have drunk the whole bottle. Where's the rest of it, Arthur?"

He pointed carelessly to the fireplace.

"You dumped it into the pot?!" She rushed over to it.

"Told ya I thought it was somethin' else. Somethin' normal people eat. When they don't hate themselves."

"I know you can read!"

He groaned. "Don't chastise me, woman," he whined. "Believe me, I've been punished enough."

She bent and took a ladle to taste it. She straightened. "It's salvageable. Thank heavens I made a pot big enough."

"I can't eat that."

She looked at him. "It ain't even that hot."

"I can't eat that."

"Arthur!"

"I am _not_ eatin' that."

She rolled her eyes. "So much for a big, tough man, huh?" She watched him continue to groan and pant as he fanned his face. Never would she have thought she'd see him like that. With a laugh she said, "I guess it's payback for your stogie. Revenge is a cold broad, Arthur."

He glared at her. "No. She's a hot one."

* * *

"Go lightly from the ledge, babe,

go lightly on the ground.

I'm not the one you want, babe.

I'll only let you down.

You say you're lookin' for someone

who'll promise never to part.

.

But it ain't me, babe.

No, no, no, it ain't me, babe.

It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe."

.

\- Johnny Cash & June Carter Cash, "It Ain't Me Babe"

* * *

Later on in his visit Eliza sat sewing a tear in one of Arthur's shirts while he carried Isaac, who was finally starting to get fussy after quite a while of contentment with his father.

"Well," Arthur said to him as she set aside her work and stood, "when all else fails, I'd say it's your mama's tit you want. Can't say I blame ya."

"Arthur…" she moaned with a smirk and a hand to the side of her face.

He continued talking to him as he cried. "I know it! She keeps the good stuff tucked away! I keep tryina tell her it ain't right, little 'un. Well, in my case I just like seein' 'em every now and then. It's life or death for you, ain't it?" he chuckled.

At the sound of Isaac's cries, she looked down and quickly folded her arms. "Oh, hurry! Before he makes me leak all over my blouse." She quickly began undoing her buttons as Arthur passed him to her.

"There you go. Back to your rightful place, bud. In your mama's lovin' arms." He watched as she sat in the chair and nursed him, cupping her hand behind his head, humming to him gently. He smiled to himself, but she caught a glimpse of it.

"What?" she asked.

His smile widened. "Gets me every time."

"What, how quickly he latches on?" she chuckled.

"No, it's…something I would've thought so downright bizarre before. You know, something comin' from your own body to feed someone else. But every time I see you two, it just… You fit together, is all. He loves you, and you love him. Anyone can see it."

She smiled.

"It's like you were made for each other. And he was made for you, wasn't he?" He turned and pulled something from the cupboard. "Just can't believe I ever had a part in it."

She watched as he cooked something for himself in the kitchen while she finished nursing Isaac. When she went to button herself up, she noticed again the neckerchief she'd kept all this time, tucked neatly between her chemise and blouse. She'd been wrestling with the idea of giving it back to him, whether it would expose her as a fool or not.

Finally she decided in favor of it. She laid Isaac in his bassinet and buttoned herself up, going to stand beside him in the kitchen.

"Arthur."

"Huh," he said.

"I been…meanin' to return somethin' to you."

He looked over at her.

She dipped into her neckline and pulled it out, looking down at the black fabric in her hands.

His face relaxed into a smile. "Hey…I looked everywhere for that! Thought I'd gone and lost it," he said taking it from her. "You keepin' it warm for me?" he chuckled.

"I shouldn't have kept it this long," she said quietly.

His eyes snagged on a ragged paper on the floor at her feet. "What the hell is this?" he said bending for it. When he came up, he saw her expression flash to panic.

"Oh no, Arthur, please! Give it back!" she gasped and reached for it as he pulled it away.

He looked at her. "Ooh, you're really serious!" he grinned. "Must be somethin' good." He began unfolding it. "You've worn this raw!"

"No, _please!_ Arthur!"

He was surprised at just how serious she was, tears of panic rising in her eyes as she pleaded.

He looked down and saw a title of "_-Loving Arthur-_" written in cursive. Beneath it was some old scripture passage about what love is and isn't. His eyes floated downward; and as he read something she'd scribbled at the bottom, he began to fully realize what this was, and he wished he hadn't seen it:

_Nearly everyone in his life has left him. I wish there were a way I could show him: he can be sure of me, I'm not going anywhere. Mama always used to tell me that everyone has one song placed inside of them—'One special song, baby girl, for your heart to sing,' she'd say—a love that's meant for one person. Mine is for him. It's like he was made for me. The kind of love that steals you away, body and soul, and you don't mind if you ever really get it back. That's the way I love him._

It was the private musings of a lost little girl. He felt his stomach go tense. He knew she loved him. He hadn't needed to find this to know it. He blinked and clenched his jaw at the new predicament he found himself in. He wanted her to have his love, but he didn't want to give it. Just the thought made him want to get on his horse, ride away, and never come back. And he didn't want to do that to her. He didn't know what it was, but he couldn't bring himself to think about loving her; he just couldn't. It only brought into sharp relief what a deformed coward he was inside. Disgust and scorn at himself rose in his throat at the thought.

Eliza watched intently as he looked down at the worn sheet of paper and his eyes glided over the writing. As he reached the end of the page an awful scowl slowly slid over his chin, and a look of clear contempt and derision filled his eyes and darkened his brow. She felt her insides crumble like sand. She'd given him the best of her—body, soul, and a son—and still, not only could he not find it in his heart to love her, he _scorned_ her love.

Without looking at her, he calmly handed the paper in her direction.

"_Oh,_" she gave a short squeak as the tears filled her eyes and she quickly snatched it from his fingers.

.

.

"I was born the runnin' kind

with leavin' always on my mind.

Home was never home to me at any time.

Every front door found me hopin'

I would find the back door open.

There just had to be an exit

for the runnin' kind.

.

Within me there's a prison

surrounding me alone

as real as any dungeon

with its walls of stone.

I know runnin's not the answer,

but runnin's been my nature

and the thing in me that keeps me movin' on."

.

\- Johnny Cash & Tom Petty, "The Running Kind"


	15. 15

When Arthur returned to the homestead, Eliza was already on the porch with Isaac on her hip. He rode up and quickly dismounted. He ran up and kissed Isaac on the head, then planted a sloppy kiss directly on her mouth, going inside with a smile.

Her eyes went wide, and she gave a small grin as she turned to follow him. "You're in an awful good humor."

"Just had an awful big score," he said as he went to the kitchen and grabbed a plate a food from the stove, sitting and eating it haphazardly.

Her smile slowly fell as she closed the door quietly, as if hoping she'd somehow heard him wrong. She went to the table and stood before him, whispering meekly, "How many people did you have to hurt to get it?"

He immediately slammed his hand on the table, and she gave a small jump at the sudden sound.

"Goddamn it!" he laughed, looking up at her. Only she didn't like the sound of this laugh. He took out a thick stack of bills and flitted it onto the table. "It's for you, anyway. You two. What d'you want me to do, give it back?"

She swallowed, holding Isaac to her.

He eyed her. "That's what I thought."

She hated everything about every part of this. She felt as much apart of it as he was. Of his robbing and hurting people. Of his need to feel he had to do it. Of what was turning his heart dark and cold.

The cash sat untouched through his visit, and when he left a few days later she sat at the table and stared at it, biting her thumbnail.

It wasn't right, none of it was; and she knew it. She just couldn't figure out what to do about it.

She planted an elbow on the table and ran a hand across her face, finally resting it on her forehead. If he was going to steal anyway, what harm was there in her taking the money? Or what if her taking it only served to further justify the need he felt to get it? She glanced away from it. Oh, her head was spiraling. She was so tired, always tired; and she had no other way of sustaining herself and Isaac. She still believed what she'd said to Addie long ago: that a parent had a right to provide for their little one. This was how Isaac's father chose to do it. She looked down at the money.

But that didn't justify her taking this cash. She had no way of knowing where it had come from; she could only guess, which somehow made it even worse. Had he swindled and pilfered from someone? Had he beaten passengers on a train? She swallowed hard and picked at a knot in the woodgrain of the table. Had he robbed a struggling family? All of it was a possibility. And in every scenario, innocent blood was on the table.

She buried her face in her hands, pressing her fingers to her forehead and rubbing hard. She hated money. All it ever did was hurt, and cause people to hurt each other over it. She lifted her head and thought again of Arthur, and how it was turning his heart black and foul. And now it sat before her, teasing her, beckoning her into a moral quandary she'd never faced before and couldn't escape now if she tried. Was she to accept it to save her child, and turn her own heart putrid while validating Arthur's actions and giving him incentive to continue? Or was she to burn it and go it alone somehow—she didn't know how—preserving nothing but her own self-righteousness, and making every action Arthur had taken for naught? She dropped her head into her hands again and felt a smoldering headache emerge behind her eyes as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She wouldn't wish this on her worst enemy.

Several minutes later her head was burning, her body was ragged from stress, when she finally looked up at the cash. This whole time, she'd only been thinking in terms of two options. But what if there were a third? She sniffed and finally inched out a hand towards the money, but hesitated. She had to think this out thoroughly and rationally. If she gave some of it away to those in need, maybe it would make it a little less damning and mercenary for her to take it. Even better, if she were able to take little jobs here and there when possible and combine the money with Arthur's, she wouldn't be able to tell one bill from the next. It would be _their_ money going to help those in need. She reached out and took hold of the cash. She immediately closed her eyes and sniffed back her tears, praying her plan was enough to cover a multitude of sins, enough to redeem Arthur at least in part, and maybe even herself.

.

The next time Arthur came by she was standing on the front porch with her back against the wall watching the sun set to the left side of the house. He came up the porch steps and looked at her.

"Where's little one?" he asked.

"Asleep," she whispered without turning.

"You all right?" He came and leaned against the house beside her.

She didn't answer. There was so much she wanted to say. _Do you know the moral back flips you put me through? Do you ever think about what it's doing to me—getting close to you and saying goodbye over and over again, never really knowing for sure that I'll ever see you again? Why can't you be happy—stay, and be happy with me? Why can't you treasure me, the way I treasure you?_ She didn't say any of it. It was what they did. Held back from each other and kept it all inside, because it was easier than risking being hurt even more if they said it all. But she was beginning to feel it—the poison of swallowing conflict and pain. But neither did she say the good things: that she loved him and how much, that she had chosen to. That she didn't regret anything, that she would rather feel pain than never have him and their son in her life. It was for the same reason, she supposed: she was afraid.

"Look at it," she whispered.

Arthur glanced at the orange-pink sunset but looked back at her. He watched her as the marigold light of the setting sun washed over her. She was growing up right before his eyes, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. She was forlorn, solemn—alone even after he'd stepped onto the porch. But she was trying not to let it show. He could see that this life was beginning to wilt her: the shame of taking his money, the struggle of raising a son without a father. He swallowed. There was so much he wanted to say. That he was no good for them, that this set-up was for the best. That he was sincerely deeply thankful for her. That he desperately wanted her and their son to live well. That he felt possessive and protective over her, even that he had a real soft spot for her—how could he not? No one else in the world had given him what she had—a child, a precious little life who reflected them both.

He watched her eyes blink slowly as she took in the sunset. The two of them had been thrown together; and after everything they'd been through, she'd become something like a friend to him—a refuge, a garden in the wasteland of his tumultuous life. But he couldn't bring himself to think of it as love, not in that way, and he didn't know why. He didn't want to think another woman's name as he stood beside her, but she probably had something to do with it. Another reason was probably that he was afraid. And the thought alone of being afraid scared him half to death.

She finally turned to look at him. "Would you mind terribly just…holding my hand?"

It was so simple a request; for some reason the thought gutted him and sent his mind quaking. She couldn't know how much she was asking of him, because he hadn't even known himself until the moment he was faced with it.

He looked into her green eyes. It was the least he could give her after all she'd given of herself. He silently reached out and took her hand, and they stood there side by side until a magnificent spread of glittering stars looked down at them.

And Eliza thought it strange, that the person who brought her such heartache should be the very same one she sought consolation and solace in.

.

"Come on home, home to me,

and I will hold you in my arms

and joyful be.

There will always, _always_ be

a place for you at my table.

Return to me."

\- Josh Garrels, "At the Table"


	16. 16

"Wandering soul,

wandering mind,

wondering what's gone wrong with me.

And try not to try.

Swayed by the wind,

swayed by desire.

Can't reach the moon up above,

and I don't dare touch the fire.

.

'Cause the trouble with wanting is I want you.

The trouble with wanting is I want you.

The trouble with wanting is I want you,

and I want you all the time.

.

Always on my mind,

always alone.

You could be miles and miles away,

but somehow you're close.

If I can't have my cake

and I can't eat it too

well, I guess the sound of your voice

in the aching will just have to do."

\- Joy Williams, "The Trouble with Wanting"

.

Eliza woke the next morning and turned over to find that Arthur was gone from the bed. From the corner of her eye she saw a note on the nightstand and reached out to read it:

_Gone hunting. Be back before lunch._

She dressed and went to Isaac's room, finding that he was already awake, dressed, and sitting on the end of his bed, reading.

"Morning, matey," she said with a smile as she sat beside him. She knew he was working on reading the smaller words in _Treasure Island_, his favorite book to be read to from.

He looked up at her with a smile. "I bet Arthur would like this one. Could you ask him to read it to me?"

"You can ask him yourself when he gets home," she said running her hand through the hair on the back of his head. "Well, after you get home from your lessons, anyway."

"He's not here? Where is he?" he asked, his brows knitting together.

"He just went to catch us some food, baby. Not to worry. He'll be here when you get back."

He groaned, "Do I have to go to lessons?"

"I thought you liked them!"

"Yeah, but Arthur's here! I wanna be here right when he gets back!"

She grinned. "I won't let him tell any stories until you get home. Promise. Does that make you feel any better?"

"A little," he mumbled. "But I really just like being with Arthur. I just like him."

She brought an arm around him and pulled him close. "I know you do, honey." After a moment she added quietly, "I do too."

* * *

When Arthur returned with a couple rabbits and a small buck hanging over the back of his horse, Eliza was on her hands and knees working in the garden. He skinned the game and went to the smokehouse to hang them.

When he came back out, he looked around for Isaac. Eliza's basket was full of vegetables, and she was rinsing her hands at the water pump. When he walked over and began rinsing, she handed him the bar of soap.

"Where's the kid?" he asked as he wiped his hands on his shirt under his jacket.

"I've paid for some extra tutoring during the Christmas holiday. He's in town; I won't need to pick him up for a few hours."

Not two full minutes passed before the two of them were scuffling and fumbling with each other's clothes up against the wall in her bedroom. With the rare instance of total privacy, they had sex twice that afternoon—once right after the other.

Afterwards, as Eliza lay beside him on the bed, she let the images replay behind her eyes. Before yesterday, it had been several months since Arthur had been inside her, and she relished every sensation—his tongue as he kissed her, the alternate rigidity and litheness of his body as he plummeted into her, the sighs and soft groans that sometimes escaped him. He had a habit each time of reaching underneath and touching the flesh where they joined with the tip of his finger; and each time he did, he sent her over the edge. Arthur had honed his skills as a lover over the almost seven years they'd known each other. But her favorite thing was when they both reached their peak and he gave out after the last moment, relaxing against her and trembling briefly as she held him, waiting for both their breathing to return to normal.

Arthur reclined in the bed and let his mind wander. One thing they had gotten damn good at was sex. This time had been rowdy and loud and breathless, what with the kid being gone and all. He took pleasure in watching her bite her lip, in watching her tense and release, in eliciting his own name from her lips. He smiled. He'd grown accustomed to her after all these years. He could strum her like a master musician could strum a well-tuned guitar.

Next to him Eliza rose up on her right elbow and came close to rest her chest atop his. As she looked at him, he brought his hand to her back and felt her soft bare skin, thinking about how this was a part of her that never saw the light of day.

Eliza felt his fingertips run across her back. She noticed his eyebrows come together as his hand hovered on a place under her arm, just behind her right breast.

"You have a scar here," he said. "How did you get it?"

She was taken aback by how he could've found it, since it was such a small, old scar that the only way to notice it was by running a finger there in a feather-light stroke.

"That," she smiled, "is the mark left by a very young girl who didn't know how to use her mother's curling tongs."

He gave a breathy laugh and raised his brows. "Sure. If it ended up under your arm."

"I haven't thought about that in ages," she smiled.

He trailed his hand slowly up her back, past her neck, and into her hair. He'd always liked her hair, especially now, the way it fell in loose waves about her shoulders. It was like the sun. He ran the back of his fingers over her cheek and gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking at her.

Eliza looked at him as the sunlight came in angled ribbons through her bedroom window. She reached up and trailed a path over his strong, stubbled jaw. When she reached his mouth, she traced his bottom lip with her thumb.

"Say my name. Won't you?" she heard herself whisper.

"What?"

"Say my name," she said.

He looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. "You're crazy," he scoffed with a smile.

"Maybe. Come on, say it." She leaned down and kissed him once, twice. She smiled, enjoying the smacking sounds they made with each comfortable kiss. "Say it."

He looked at her, trying not to smirk. "Naw, what are you playin' at?"

"Just say it!" she smiled.

He lifted his head up on the pillow and looked into her green eyes. He felt her breath on his top lip, her mouth hovering just above his. "Eliza."

She kissed him more passionately and felt him breathe deeply. She kissed his neck, and he chuckled.

"You goin' for number three?"

She smiled and continued kissing him, working her way down his chest. Seeing his eyes close, she traveled down his torso to his lower abdomen and ventured further still.

"No, don't do that, no. Come on," she heard him say abruptly in a coarse tone as he sat up and looked at her, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Why not?"

"Because you're not a tart. Come on." He took her hand and pulled her up beside him, lying back down.

She tried to see the inadvertent compliment, but even so felt her face go warm. Even after six years of no longer being a teenager, six years of mothering their son on her own, he still had the ability to make her feel like a child.

With him on his back, she lied on her side, bringing her hands under the pillow and looking at him. She watched him bring his thumb and forefinger to his eyelids and draw them together at the bridge of his nose.

She kept herself from reaching out and touching the crows' feet and the various rough-hewn crags in his face, put there by years of weather and hard living—even at his young age of thirty. Many times she had tried to imagine him in his many different lives that she knew nothing about, that he refused to tell her about. She wondered what these lives meant for how he felt about her, or if they meant he felt nothing for her at all. He was more or less a sealed vault when it came to matters of the heart. At least with her. At least up til now.

"Was she very beautiful?" she asked.

"Who, the tart?" he chuckled. "Not remotely."

"Mary."

She caught him flinch slightly at the name. He stared up at the raw wood boards in the ceiling and sighed. "Yes, very beautiful. But we were also very young. I couldn't tell you whether time has been kind to her."

"When was the last you saw her?"

"Oh, it's been…going on thirteen, fourteen years now." He turned to her, his expression annoyed. "Did you read my journal?"

The question was a subtle jab, but a sharp and effective one. They both knew how many times she'd asked him to share something—anything—from his journal with her. She'd never stolen it and pried, but she'd asked. She couldn't help it. God only knew how many times she'd looked up at the stars when he'd been away and wondered where he could be, what he was doing, and what it was that could possibly take him away from their son and so far from her door. All she'd wanted was a chance to see into his world, to peek into his mind and heart—since there seemed to be no other way inside. Apparently Mary had not only found her way inside, but between the pages.

"'Course not," she said. "No need. You told me about her."

He searched her eyes for a moment, then his face relaxed with understanding. He turned to face the ceiling again. "I really don't wanna talk about Mary."

"I only have one question."

"What's that," he said sitting up with his back against the headrest.

"Do you see her when you make love to me?"

He took time to consider his answer, and it was several seconds before he finally responded. He looked down at his hands and raised his eyebrows. "Didn't realize I was making love to you."

She shifted to lie on her back and tried unsuccessfully to shore up the tears. She swallowed. "You're a cruel man, Arthur Morgan. Crueler and crueler all the time."

"Eliza…" he drawled. "I—forgive me, I… Look, Mary is not the reason I'm here, believe me."

"Then what is?"

"What?"

"The real reason you're here?"

They locked eyes, and he was tongue-tied for a moment. "That boy, I reckon."

At the response, she let a spiteful thought pass fleetingly through her mind—the reality that she knew their son better than he did. She nodded. "You never answered my question," she said, knowing he would be brought back to the one thing she'd asked that he had dodged.

He looked away. "Probably because I ain't rightly sure of the answer myself." He sighed, and his voice was deep and quiet when he said, "I reckon the cords of love are nigh impossible to break. You shouldn't expect yourself to be able to, Eliza."

"I don't," she said. "Maybe I only learned you could love a woman last night, when you whispered another woman's name in your sleep after havin' me."

She sat up and leaned away, hunching over as she brought the sheet up over her chest. She was suddenly completely disinterested in being near him, much less being exposed to him.

He got up and began to dress. "You know, I gotta go into town for a few things. It might take a while, but I should be here for supper. Think you'll be all right 'til I get back?"

"I always am," she said, not looking at him.

* * *

When Arthur returned at suppertime, Eliza was just about to dish out the meal.

"Arthur!" Isaac said as Eliza set his plate in front of him. "I thought you'd be here when I got home…but you weren't. I was scared you left for good again."

"Naw, 'course not. Never for good. Just had to pick up a few things." When Eliza came over he nodded and said, "Howdy."

She didn't respond and passed him his plate, and Arthur was keenly aware that she did so without touching or looking at him. He took the plate and thanked her as she turned. He watched her as she prepared her own plate and sat across from them.

"Mama said you went to catch something," Isaac said. "What'd you get?"

"Just a buck, couple rabbits," Arthur said as he took a bite. He watched Eliza as she ate, never once looking at him. He decided to try something. "Pass the cornbread?" he said.

She passed it to him, making sure to grip the pan on the far side so they'd never brush fingers—just as he'd thought. He sat back and sighed, clearing his throat. "Thank ya."

After supper, Isaac took Arthur to the sofa and asked him to read a passage from _Treasure Island_ to him. He ran to his room for the book and came and put it in his hands.

"Do you do voices?" Isaac asked, sitting next to him.

"Sure," Arthur chuckled. "I can if you like."

"Mama always does voices for me," he said, coming close when Arthur opened the book.

Arthur peered up at Eliza, who was busying herself in the kitchen. "I don't, uh…I don't think I'm in your mother's good graces at the moment," he said quietly.

Isaac followed his gaze to his mother. "No, it's just 'cause she loves you," he said, turning back to him.

"What?" Arthur looked down at him.

"You know, sorta like…when I go where she can't see me after she told me not to, or…if I get too close to the stove. She gets mad, but then it's okay because she says it's because she loves me."

"Hm. I'm not sure it's the same."

"Sure it is. I know my mama. She only gets mad at you if she loves you."

Arthur glanced in Eliza's direction, then looked away. "So, uh…you ready to hear a couple pages out of your story? What's this one about, anyway?"

Isaac smiled. "Pirates!" he said, covering one eye. "And buried treasure!"

"Oh, our favorite kind!" Arthur propped the open book up while Isaac rested his chin in his hand.

Arthur read him a couple chapters; and when Isaac fell asleep, he carried him to his bed. When he returned, Eliza had finished in the kitchen and was heading to her room.

Arthur moved to follow her but had to quickly stop short when Eliza shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the quiet.

He sighed and scratched his head, preparing to make his bed on the sofa.

.

"You know how to make me weak in the knees

when you pour yourself all over me,

but somebody broke you back in the day.

Now you never ever love.

Now you only wanna play.

There's a big old hole in the middle of you

'cause somebody left you black and blue.

Yeah we all make promises we can't keep,

and they're paper thin but cut so deep.

I cry when you do, I cry when you don't.

Why won't you tell me what, what you want with me?

One day we're together, then we're apart.

Why won't you let me fill up your empty heart?"

\- Grace Potter, "Empty Heart"


	17. 17

That evening Eliza had Isaac on her hip when she grimaced. "Arthur, would you take him? My lower back is tellin' me about it."

"Sure," he drawled with a smile as he reached out and took him from her arms. "Come here, bud."

Eliza watched as Arthur went about his business just the same with one of his big arms carrying Isaac to his side. Isaac reached out and fiddled with the hair on his chin, and she laughed softly at Arthur's reaction when he yanked at it.

"Oh, that just ain't gonna work, partner." He glanced back at her. "Gotta keep my face completely bare for the folk round here!"

She smiled and watched as he took Isaac to a blanket on the sitting room floor where they kept a few toys and wooden blocks for him.

"Here, this stuff oughtta do ya," he said, and she was surprised when he actually sat on the floor and began playing with him.

Before long, she realized they were both completely caught up, and neither of them would miss her for a little while. She decided to take the opportunity to slip away into her room for a quiet bath.

About half an hour later, Arthur came through the bedroom door.

"Shit," he cut out when he saw her in the bath, and quickly retreated to pull the door closed. "I'm sorry, I didn't— It wasn't latched, I didn't—"

"_You're all right, Arthur,_" he heard her quiet words through the crack in the door.

Still unsure he'd heard her right, he slowly pushed it open.

"It's nothin' you haven't seen before."

He looked away and proceeded inside, going to the dresser by the bedside, as it seemed she wished. "Put Isaac to bed. He was noddin' off."

"You give him a kiss goodnight for me?"

"'Course," he said quietly. But that wasn't the kind of kiss he was thinking of at this particular moment, his eyes glued to her reflection in the mirror of the vanity against the wall as he began to undress. With her back to him as she sat in the tub, he noticed her smiling softly in profile at his response.

"Even as young as he is, he likes when he's got your attention; I've noticed that," she said.

"Yeah—he's a good kid."

"With a lot of love to give."

"Gonna start crawlin' soon, I reckon." He saw her nod in the mirror as he opened up the buttons on his shirt one by one.

"Any day now," she said.

He watched her in the mirror's reflection as she leaned forward and bathed herself, taking the soap bar across her arms, her wisps of dry hair piled up in a tussle atop her head, though a few clumps had escaped and were sticking to her skin. He listened to the water slosh and watched the muscles in her back tense and move. When she released the pin from her hair, it fell in a tumble of golden waves, and she proceeded to get suds going on her scalp. He watched as she dipped her head back into the water to rinse, and when he saw her closed eyes and parts of her serene face, he tried to look away again.

Something about eavesdropping on someone bathing—even with permission—felt so inherently wrong, like it was the last bastion of a person's privacy, meant to stay that way. To be invited into that privacy felt so intimate, not to be done casually. Almost like it was to be reserved for a husband and wife and enjoyed by only them. And here he was, willing to look on with almost a ferocity—if she was going to give it, he would take it.

He swallowed hard and wondered again if he was a normal man—a normal man would be one way or the other, not fight with himself about it. He wondered too if she knew how easily she could send him at odds with himself. He looked back at her reflection as she went about her business in relaxed, oblivious movements. It didn't seem she had any notion what types of things were hard for a grown man.

Having finished bathing, Eliza looked around and realized that while she was sitting, her towel was just out of reach. She pulled herself up and rose out of the water, and almost immediately she felt the towel covering her. When she looked back, Arthur wasn't there. He had already returned to his place beside the dresser with his back to her.

"Thank you," she said quietly. She looked forward again and scrunched her brows up for a moment as she stepped out of the bath. Once she'd dried off and changed into her nightgown, they both quietly slipped into bed and fell asleep.

.

When the sun came up and they got out of bed, Arthur noticed that she didn't greet him good morning when she dressed and went to Isaac's room. As they cooked breakfast in the kitchen, she nearly bumped into him more than once as she avoided looking his way. He tried to write it off, but when she still hadn't said a word to him by late afternoon, he spoke up.

"Why're you actin' squirrelly?" he said with an arch to his brow.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play around; just tell me."

She hesitated but finally opened her mouth. "Are you tired of me, or am I just plumb disgusting to you now?"

"What?" He wheezed a chuckle. "Whatchyou talkin' 'bout? Get the two of us together, we can hardly keep our hands off each other."

"Last night. You saw the whole of me, every inch, and still you…you never even touched me. Usually you get home, and you…you come onto me like a…like a…"

He nodded with a grin, scratching the back of his head. "Like a feral hound."

"Exactly." She watched him chuckle to himself and shake his head. But she didn't find it terribly funny. When they were intimate, she could imagine that he loved her. She couldn't let him take that away.

"There I was thinkin'…" His head bobbled in amusement. "Oh, god, Eliza," he wiped his hand over his face. "It's just a misunderstandin', is all. I thought you'd think better of me if I didn't."

Her brows came together for a moment, and she shook her head with the slightest grin. "Since when do you care what I think, Arthur?"

"I—" He stiffened, taking a moment to think. "Well, I…I couldn't rightly tell you when that happened." He loosened up and looked back at her. "Truth is you had me practically salivatin' like the no-good, wretched dog I am. If that's what you're worried about, don't be. I'll have you hootin' and hollerin' tonight, all right? Hell, we can knock one off right here, right now if you want."

She let out a chuckle as she leaned in to hug him, pressing her cheek against his chest.

He lifted his arms, a little unsure for a moment what the right move was. He finally brought his hands to her back and patted her.

.

Later that night when Eliza had put Isaac down for bed, she went to her bedroom and stopped abruptly when she saw Arthur in the bathtub.

"Oh," she said turning quickly to leave.

"Naw, it's all right," he chuckled at her reaction that had mirrored his own. Now he was able to understand what she'd felt. "Hey!" he said, stopping her before she closed the door. "This is a bit of déjà vu for us, ain't it? 'Cept this time we're gonna do it right."

She looked back at him.

"There's room enough for two," he said. "Wanna give me a hand here?"

"What?" He saw her brows come together slightly as she fought a grin.

"Don't hesitate, don't even think! Just get yourself in here!"

She looked back at the door for a moment, closed it, and quickly disrobed.

"'Atta girl," he said.

She caught his expression as she got into the tub one leg at a time. This time it was plain and heavy-laden with lust. She sunk into the steaming water across from him, and he quickly caught her by the wrist.

"Whoa, no, no," he said, slinging her towards him. "Your place is right over here."

She smiled and sloshed through the water, turning to sit and lie back against him. When they were both sitting still and quiet, he began cupping his hand in the water and bringing it to the back of her head repeatedly to wet her hair. She thought back to one of the first things he'd ever said to her—that she was a child. She'd been working herself away from that ever since. From where she sat, she had to be a grownup by now. Had to be. She'd have her twenty-first birthday in a couple months, and here she was sharing a bath with a brawny outlaw. And on top of that, she was nearly always working through a tangle of grown-up emotions she wouldn't wish on Confucius himself. In fact, she thought that by anybody's standards, she'd grown up in a real god-awful hurry.

"You know…" he said quietly, "you said somethin' that kinda bothered me."

"Hm?"

"Well… I know I can be a downright ornery bastard."

She let a short chuckle spurt in the back of her nose. "It's good to be self-aware."

"Yeah. Well. Can you say with confidence you'll grow tired of me, 'Liza? And I don't just mean…the physical side of things; I mean, in general—just bein' round me. Think you'll get tired of me?"

"Hm…" she grinned.

"Well, don't think too hard now."

She smiled. "Tired of you? How could I be? You're a one-man circus in and of yourself," she laughed. She heard his brief laugh mingle with hers, then die away.

"Eliza hun… I'm tryin'a be serious for once."

She felt her smile slowly fade as she realized he was in earnest. She swallowed and shook her head. "Never. Ain't possible."

"Well then," he said running a finger under the wet hair stuck to the crook of her neck and swiping it around to the other side. "With everything we got on our plates, bein' new parents and all, let's both agree to neither of us spend our time worryin' about that one. All right?"

She closed her eyes when she felt his lips on her shoulder. "Is that your way of lettin' me know you won't get tired of me either?" He didn't answer, instead planting another kiss in the crook of her neck. She smiled and sighed through her nose. "You sure have an odd way of reassuring a woman, Arthur."

"As long as it works," he said placing kisses on her neck, under her jaw, and on the corner of her mouth.

She let her head fall back onto his shoulder, and he kissed her deeply on the mouth. She finally reached an arm around his neck and drew back as she turned to face him, sitting on his lap.

"Oh, you're gonna make a meal outta me, huh?" he grinned. "Guess no one's gettin' clean."

With one arm slung around him, she kissed him and slid the other hand down to his groin.

"Woh—_Jesus_," he jumped at what she'd done, sliding deeper into the tub. He let out a laugh. "You're a little excited there."

She grinned as she leaned into him. "Ain't like you aren't too," she said quietly between kisses.

"Yeah, but," he breathed, laughing almost nervously, "you gonna send me out ahead of you, you go about it like that."

She bit her lip and smiled. "Sorry."

"Ain't no skin off my nose, darlin'," he chuckled. Once he sat upright again, she went to kiss him and hesitated, and he saw her expression grow sober and pensive. "What is it?"

"I'd always wondered…" she said quietly, almost to herself. "You draw a distinction…between this, and…just bein' round each other?"

"Sure. I think anyone would," he chuckled.

She looked down at him. "So…you like just bein' round me?"

And just like that, maybe without even trying, she'd pinned him down. He debated whether he should tell her the truth or a lie. The truth was that he did enjoy just being with her. For once he knew the simple answer to her question. What he didn't know was whether the truth would hurt her more in the long run than it would for her to hear a lie now. He looked up into her eyes. They had a history of holding back, but never of lying to each other. He didn't want to start now.

He swiped a stray clump of wet hair from her face. His voice was deep and quiet when he said, "I like just bein' round you." He watched her eyes fill—not with tears, not even with desire. He'd only seen a look like that from one other woman in his life.

Eliza brought her other arm around his neck, coming close and kissing him once. When she drew away, she felt his arms press to her bare back and noticed his brows come together as he looked down at her mouth and leaned forward for her again.


	18. 18

With Isaac wrapped up snugly in a cloth sling, his back to hers and a bonnet on his head, Eliza rode into town on her horse, Samson, that Arthur had caught her. When she'd made it to the main thoroughfare, she dismounted and tethered Samson, unwrapping Isaac and tucking the sling and bonnet into her saddlebag. With Isaac on her hip, she made her way from store to store for what she needed, passing the clothiers and telling herself she didn't need any new material for a new gown. She bought a single book from the bookstore and began making her way in the direction of Mr. Andrews's general store, greeting a few kind souls on the way whom she hadn't seen in a while.

As she moved about with a smile in her face, the town's new sheriff caught sight of her.

"_Jesus_ Christ," he huffed from his place leaning against the column on the boardwalk in front of his office. "Would you look at that fine little slice of paradise," he said to his deputy, who wasn't new to town and was rolling himself a fresh cigarette.

"Huh?" he said looking up. "Who?"

"That one," he nodded, gnawing on a wad of tobacco and eyeing the way loose bits of her golden hair caught the breeze and created a halo around her head in the sun. "One with a babe under her arm and no ring glintin' on her finger."

"Oh, that's Eliza," his deputy said.

"What's the story on her?" he said as he spat.

"Who, little Eliza? Well, she's lived here her whole life. Her ma and pa passed, and not long after that, she took up waitressin' over at the saloon. Least 'til she got knocked up. Never did say who the feller was."

"So she's a tramp," the new sheriff said with a grin. "Just the way I like 'em. I mighta known." He grabbed his belt and straightened off the column as he spat the rest of his tobacco.

"You ain't afraid of a package deal?"

"With a body like that? Hell, she could have a whole ant hill of children." He cocked his chin to the side. "If she's a tramp, the good Lord made her just for me." He stepped off the boardwalk and called back to him. "Stay here. Watch the office."

As Eliza started down a shadowed alley to cut across to the general store, he turned down it and caught up with her.

"Well, howdy," he drawled. As she stopped and turned to him, he grabbed the brim of his hat. "Name's Cavendish. I'm the new sheriff in Misty Willow. Don't believe we've had the pleasure of meetin'."

She smiled. "I thought I'd heard we were gettin' a new sheriff. Just didn't think you'd make it here so soon. I'm Eliza. It's lovely to meet you." She looked at Isaac. "And this is Isaac."

"Hey there, little guy. Yeah…" he said in his low, scratchy voice with a grin at Isaac. "Not every day you run into two pretty little birds." He peered back at her.

"That's very kind of you," she nodded.

"Yeah—" he grunted as he shifted his weight. "It's a pretty nice town. But I haven't been here long; I been just barely gettin' my feet wet! Need someone to show me around, tell me what's what."

"Well…just like with any town, you can start in one of two places: the church, or the saloon," she said with a nod and smiled when he laughed. "Got busybodies in both, can help you with that."

His chuckle trickled away, and his eyes met hers in a way that made his smirk seem to disappear. "I hear tell you know one a little better than the other."

Her smile fell ever so slowly, and she tried to lift her chin. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did grow up in church, Sheriff Cavendish. If that's what you mean."

He came closer and gave his head a small shake. "It ain't. You know it ain't." Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he tilted his head towards Isaac. "Just where did he come from, hm?"

With her breath hitching, she frowned, wondering if she'd ever fully escape the curse of this ugly reputation. "I'm not a whore, sheriff," she said quietly. "I never was."

"Ain't the case from what I can tell." Without removing his eyes from hers, he reached out and took hold of her empty left ring finger, bringing it up within her line of sight. "Not the professional kind, you mean."

Her brows rose, and she swallowed, trying to keep her eyes from stinging.

"No matter, girly. Don't have to be paid to be good," he said taking a couple more steps towards her. "I'm willin' to lay money down that that… Mm…" He looked her up and down, cocking his head and smacking his tongue. "That that fine little body of yours is more than enough to make up for any lack of know-how. 'Sides." He scrunched his nose and grinned wider. "It's clear you know just plenty."

He came even closer, crowding her. Still holding Isaac with one arm, she took a step back, panicking when she met the wall. He was finally so close she could smell his fowl breath, and she shut her eyes and turned her head.

"I'm thinkin' you oughta come by the office without the kid," he murmured, his face following hers as she squirmed against the wall, "welcome me proper."

With one hand he lifted a wisp of her hair from her face. With the other he reached back and grabbed her bottom through her skirt so hard she knew she'd have a bruise, but he never loosened his cruel grasp as he yanked her forcefully towards his hip. She sucked in a gasp and nearly gagged when she realized it was the same air he'd breathed out. She caught sight of him looking down at her mouth ravenously as he leaned forward with his open.

Just then a gurgling burp arose from Isaac's throat, and a spray of creamy, chunky spit-up spewed out of him onto the sheriff's face and into his mouth. As the man released his grip from Eliza's bottom, her face relaxed. When she saw what Isaac had done, she chuffed a single incredulous laugh as her jaw dropped, and the corners of her mouth drew up into a grin. Something shifted inside her as she watched the grimy man wince.

"Oh, sheriff…" she whispered. "You know, he's teethin' these days, poor thing; and I have been givin' him solid food. Got him almost completely weaned—really, I do. He's doin' so well, but every now and then, I can't help but give him mama's best—_breastmilk_." She tisked her tongue as his eyes went wide and he spat and coughed. "It's real sour when it comes up, ain't it?" she said sweetly. With her free hand she reached out as if for the lapel of his jacket. "Here, let me help you with that." Instead she grabbed his shoulder and swiftly reared her leg back as far as she could get it, jamming her knee up into his groin with all the force she could muster. "You rotten jackass."

He immediately cried out hoarsely and crumpled to the ground, both hands on his balls. "I could take you in for this!" he groaned as he writhed on his side. "Assaultin' an officer of the law!"

"And you'll have to explain just _why_ you were close enough for my son to spit up all over your face. Won't you?"

He groaned and squirmed in the dust and dirt. "You're sharper than you look."

"And just what is it I look like, mister?" she glared down at him. "Better take a cold, hard look in the mirror before you even think about openin' your mouth to answer me. Because from where I'm standin', all I see is a sad sack of shit. Manhandlin' me! In front of my child, no less! Usin' your position to intimidate and brutalize me!" She brought her free hand up around Isaac, still staring at him as he cried and held his crotch. "I know this town. And it's only a matter of time before they realize just what kind of a man you are, and ship you right back to whatever hell it is you crawled out of. You pathetic excuse for a human being, much less a _sheriff_." When she took a step forward, a cloud of dust rose up into his face. She brought the toe of her boot under his chin, lifting his face so he had to look up at her. "You ever come near either of us again, you'll have hell to pay someone. Make no mistake."

With that, she briskly stepped off and left the alley. When she got around the corner, she covered her mouth. Never in her life had she stood up for herself like that; never had she cursed so much either. An enormous spurt of relief and energy coursed through her, and she jittered and danced with a giggle. As she walked, she cleaned up Isaac's mouth and kissed him over and over again. "I love you, baby, I _love_ you!" He smiled back at her with his little index finger in his open mouth. "You protectin' me while your daddy's away? Ooh, I love you for it!" With a bright grin she nuzzled her nose back and forth across his, causing his eyelids to quickly flutter.

She kept walking and thought about Arthur, how he was nothing like that vile, sinister man. In fact, men like that made him look like a saint. Arthur could be gentle though he couldn't see it, kind though he wouldn't admit it. She looked back into his son's bright blue-green eyes and kissed his soft, plump cheek, tickling him until she got his precious, melodious little cackle.

.

It wasn't a week before she was kissing Arthur himself in the cool of the evening in her bedroom. She was sitting in her white nightgown atop the dresser against the wall facing the end of the bed—the dresser that turned out to be just the right height—with her knees bent and her bare feet pressed tight up against the bed's oak footboard as Arthur stood between her thighs in nothing but one of his open, loose button-downs. As a sleeve of her nightgown fell from her shoulder and she slipped a hand between his shirt and skin, she thought about the way she didn't mind breathing the same breath as him, about the way their lips fit perfectly together, the way he held her near her ribs just under her breast, the way his other hand slid softly up her bare thigh—so different from the way she'd been touched earlier in the week.

When Arthur drew back from kissing the hollow space above her collarbone, he noticed how her eyes were flirting with closing, her breath escaping her in soft waves, her head gently lolling backwards and forwards. "You fallin' asleep?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "No! I'm not. I'm not!" she breathed. "I'm just…really enjoying myself," she let out a wispy laugh.

He smiled brightly and kissed her as she brought her fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

.

.

"Is love so fragile and the heart so hollow—

shatter with words, impossible to follow?

You're saying I'm fragile; I try not to be.

I search only for something I can't see.

I have my own life, and I am stronger than you know.

But I carry this feeling: when you walked into my house

that you won't be walking out the door."

.

"You in the moonlight, with your sleepy eyes,

could you ever love a man like me?

And you were right: when I walked into your house,

I knew I'd never want to leave.

Sometimes I'm a strong man, sometimes cold and scared…

But that time I saw you,

I knew with you to light my nights, somehow I'd get by."

.

"Lovers, face to face.

Stay with me, stay.

I need you to love me.

I need you today.

Give to me your leather,

Take from me my lace."

.

\- Stevie Knicks & Don Henley, "Leather and Lace"

* * *

**Shout out to each and every single one of my wonderful, special readers—especially those who leave reviews to let me and other readers know your thoughts! You know who you are, and you know you're amazing. You make this so worthwhile and fun, and I can't thank you enough. I'd like to reach out to reader "gracie," for your wonderful reviews! I'm unable to reply to guest reviews on this site, but I just wanted to let you know that I see them and am so thankful for them. It means so much to me to know that you're reading and that you enjoy it. So thank you!**


	19. 19

The next morning when Eliza came out of her bedroom barefoot in her nightgown with her hair down, Arthur was already dressed and was standing in the sitting room with his back to her and his arms folded. She came to see what he was looking at and cocked her head along with him when she saw Isaac on all fours looking upward at his father through his legs and crawling backwards.

Arthur had a hand to his chin and swiped it to his cheek when he saw her at his side. "He starts crawlin', and _that's_ what he does? Should I be…worried or somethin'?"

Isaac plopped back down on his bottom and giggled.

"No!" she said going to him and scooping him up. "Arthur, he's just having fun!"

"Fun?"

"Fun. You know, _fun?_ Ever heard of it?"

He smirked.

"What do you do for fun, Arthur?"

His expression flattened, and his eyes slid over to her, his nostrils flaring.

"_No_—somethin' else."

He swallowed.

"And somethin' that doesn't involve a weapon."

He didn't say a thing.

"If it takes you this long, you ain't havin' nearly enough fun."

"Well, if you don't wanna hear the answers!" he huffed with his hands out.

"No, you ain't doin' it right!" she chuckled and shook her head. "Start having fun, Arthur! The simple kind. The kind you find in everyday livin'. It ain't difficult. And it makes life that much sweeter. Just look at Isaac."

He grinned and looked down at him as she held him with one arm. He tried not to laugh when Isaac began spurting air through his lips making a rolling sound, causing little bubbles of saliva to appear and making himself giggle.

.

Later after she had dressed, she realized neither of them were around, but she heard Isaac babbling and playing with his blocks on the porch. She went outside to see Arthur watching him from his seat in the wooden swing at the far end of the porch, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, whittling something in his hands. She saw that he was quiet and solemn when she came to sit beside him. She shifted to face him and hung her arm across the back of the swing.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she said quietly.

He let out a long sigh and nodded. "I was just thinkin'…about what you said. Ain't many good things I find fun in, or for that matter anyone I know, really. And what I know is we ain't even the worst there is. And it got me thinkin'…" he nodded towards Isaac, "what kind of a world is this, that he's been brought into, that you'll bring him up in, you know? From what I've seen, it ain't pretty. Much the opposite, actually. But when all is said and done, I don't think we can protect him from it."

She watched his eyes go still for just a moment as he looked at nothing and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat; and she knew that the reality of that thought terrified him as much as it did her.

Arthur got caught up watching Isaac and the way he could play so carefree, his babbles lilting through the air as he talked to himself in a made-up language. "He's growin' fast," he said quietly. "Every time I see him, he's so different. But it surprises me that I like his new age just as much or more, though I was sure it couldn't happen. And I can't…catch it in my hand, can't stop it."

She nodded. "It's one of the things I'm afraid of, Arthur," she said, though he didn't turn to look at her. "When I think forward, I can see you lookin' back and bein' so angry, just so angry that you've missed so much."

He swallowed. "I don't see a way we can keep that from happening. And anyways, he needs somethin', but it ain't me he needs in his life." He shook his head. "What's he got in the world? No…friends, no siblings, no cousins, aunts or uncles, not a grandparent to speak of. And you and me…" he motioned between the two of them, "we're just stupid kids. Ain't nothin' about what we're doin' right or smart or natural, even though we can't change it. And he'll be the one to pay for it. And I'm sure you've had worries yourself about knowin' how to raise him right." When he turned his head to look at her and she nodded solemnly, he faced forward again. "And to top it all off, he's got the profound misfortune of havin' a…brute of an outlaw for a father," he scoffed and shook his head. "Look at him. He don't deserve it." He swallowed again, looking down at what he had in his hands. "I'm washed up, Eliza. Nothin' but washed up."

"No. No, you ain't," she said sitting forward. "Not to me."

He chuckled bitterly and shook his head. "You can't say things like that, Eliza. You don't know me."

She looked out at the grass by the side of the house behind him, trying not to be hurt. "I don't know about that," she said calmly and quietly. She brought her arm to rest across his shoulder and looked back at him. "I know you like hunting, and you're real good at it. I know you like your coffee black as midnight. I know you _love_ baths." She watched him eye her with a keen look, and she couldn't help but grin. "I know you have a birthmark on your—"

"_Shut up_," he drawled.

She beamed. "Bet none of your gang fellers know that about ya, huh?" She reached up and brushed some hair away from his forehead. "I know you think you're a dimwit when you ain't. You're the farthest thing from it. Well—maybe not the absolute _farthest_ thing." She smiled when he huffed a chuckle. "I know… I know you love Isaac. I know that," she nodded, pulling her lips inward for a moment before releasing them back to normal. "And I know you got a big heart. You don't even know that about yourself."

He gave his head a slow shake.

She nodded. "Uh-huh. It's right there," she said, touching her finger to his chest. "Right in there." She smiled softly and dipped her head, trying to catch his eye. "You're right, you know. What you said—you ain't the worst there is. Ain't even close. You'd be surprised how you stack up to other men." Returning her elbow to the swing back, she sat back and brought her hand up to rest her temple on her palm. "All it took was one, and I don't much like goin' into town these days."

He brought one elbow off his knee and looked back at her. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh…nothin'."

"Someone givin' you a hard time?"

"It's nothin' I couldn't…"

"You just tell me who it is," he said brusquely over her voice.

She shook her head. She'd already imagined what he'd have been like if he'd come across the sheriff on her like that. He would've slammed him up against the alley wall and tucked the end of his pistol under his chin, threatening to blow his head off until she cried out begging him not to. And he would've settled for blowing his hand off, saying he could at least keep him from ever touching her that way again and could teach him well to stay away from the two of them. A sheriff. She shivered at the thought. She and Isaac would have to pack up in a hurry and never look back, and Arthur might end up being in their lives even less, if he escaped the noose. These were the types of things her mind had time to dwell on when she was alone. Arthur could try to claim she didn't know him all he wanted, but she did.

She chose her words carefully. "It turned out to be nothin' I couldn't handle on my own, Arthur. I was actually a mite proud of myself. I sent a good, clear message," she smiled. "And anyways, I'm certain it won't be a problem much longer. Folk like that don't last in Misty Willow."

He groaned a deep sigh and faced forward again, leaning back. "You'd tell me if anything got…unseemly."

She chuckled at his use of a word he'd heard from her before. "Sure, I'd tell you."

He scratched behind his ear, still visibly uncomfortable. "'A clear message?' Christ, what was it he did? Put his hands on you?"

Her smile drooped a bit. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. I don't wanna talk about it anymore. I only meant to say that…you're a whole lot better of a man than you think you are."

"Ain't true, but…you can go ahead and think so."

"It is true. And just 'cause you can't see it don't change it." She watched him lift his brows and make a show of rolling his eyes. But she could see the makings of a smile almost imperceptibly flicker on his mouth though he tried to fight it, and she reached out and took his hand.

At that he looked over at her. He leaned close and gave her a soft kiss on the lips before returning to a reclining position in the swing's seat. He watched her slowly open her eyes, her smile widening.

"I'm glad to see you, Arthur," she said. "You're here for my birthday."

"Your birthday?" he said sitting forward. "Well, we gotta celebrate!"

"I thought we just did," she said with a hazy smile as she rested her temple in her hand again.

He smirked at her. "Naw, a peck ain't no birthday celebration," he drawled. "What do you want? Somethin' nice for supper? Say the word. Anything. Don't hesitate, just say the first thing that comes to your mind."

"Well, I…" she looked at him coyly. "Oh, you won't much like me for this."

"Out with it."

"Every now and then my father used to bring home fresh trout from the river, and it was one of the best things I'd ever tasted."

He nodded. "Trout, huh?" He brought a hand to his throat under his chin and slid it to the side of his jaw. "Couldn'a been…salt beef or somethin' like that…" he mumbled and chuckled.

She smiled. "You don't have to. Really, it's okay, Arthur."

"No, no, I was just jokin'. I'll get you that trout. Don't you worry," he said standing. "Better get started now though."

He was gone through the afternoon and evening and came back as the sun was setting after she'd already fed, bathed, and put Isaac to bed.

The two of them sat at the table playing a hand of rummy as they waited for the fish to finish cooking.

"_Every_ time!" he huffed. "Hell, if I could draw, I'd be dangerous!"

A few minutes later, she lowered her last cards. "Ha!"

"Shit—goddamnit," he tossed his cards onto the table.

"You can't beat me at this game, Arthur! I told you!" she grinned.

"You keep riggin' the deck," he folded his arms.

She shook her head.

"Well, you're a lucky turkey gizzard then."

She lifted her chin as her grin widened. "It's called skill." She caught sight of his eye roll as she stood and went to pull the fish out of the iron oven. "Simple," she said staring at the fish and fanning the steam as Arthur appeared beside her. "No breading, no fry… Just trout and oil and seasoning," she looked up at him with a smile. He reached over her and tried to pick at it. "Hands off!" she laughed and swatted him, but he'd managed to get a bit of flesh and popped his fingers into his mouth with a wide, wry grin.

As they sat at the table, she raked her fork through the fish on her plate and brought it up to her mouth. She closed her eyes and sighed. "It's so good, Arthur. Thank you," she looked at him.

Going back to his own plate, he grinned as he watched her shoulders slack and her face relax. "Well, half the credit oughta go to the cook. Wouldn't be no good if it were dry."

She brought her elbow to the table and rested her cheek on the cushion of her hand. "It reminds me of him so," she said quietly as she looked down at her plate and continued eating.

"Your daddy?"

She nodded.

"Didn't you name Isaac after him?" This time he nodded with her. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Musta been a real fine feller." He could easily imagine her as a little child coming to her father in bouncing golden curled pigtails, looking up at him with those green eyes as he drew her to his knee. Meanwhile Arthur had been scavenging, thieving, and troublemaking on the streets. It was the difference a loving family made.

"The best there was. You would've liked him," she said. "You remind me a lot of him in some ways, actually. He was big and tough, but sweet as strawberry jam inside. Or like soft, sweet buttercream."

He snickered incredulously and shook his head. "You must be thinkin' of somebody else."

"There!" she pointed at him. "Your laugh. That's another thing. He had the best laugh when he got around to using it." She replaced the heel of her hand under her cheek. "And he was good. He was just so good."

"Well," he said leaning back in his chair, "that's about where I veer off."

She looked at him and smiled with hazy eyes and shook her head. "Mm-mm."

He swallowed. "Well, I'm…glad you have some nice, happy memories, at least."

She swiped a tear from her cheek.

"All right, enough with solemn topics," he drawled. "Ain't we supposed to be celebratin'?" He stood and went to the cupboard. "Got somethin' else while I was out." He turned with a huge bottle of Kentucky bourbon in each hand. "The good stuff," he said with a smile. He came back and sat in his chair, placing a bottle in front of her on the table. "One for you, and one for me."

Her eyebrows rose high.

"What, ain't you ever had a drink before? Oh, don't tell me you haven't."

"Sure I have. Whiskey for pain and wine for a sore stomach, but never just to drink. And never a whole bottle."

"Well, no one said you had to drink the whole bottle. In fact, you probably shouldn't."

"I've seen what it does to people."

"But ain't never felt it for yourself? Oh…" he clucked his tongue and feigned an empathetic tone accompanied by a mischievous gleam in his eye, "that's sad."

She leveled her eyes at him with a smirk that she couldn't keep from growing wide.

"Loosen up!" he said shaking his shoulders. "Get a little outta line for once!"

Her eyes went wide for a moment. "I did, and look where that got us!"

He let out an exaggerated groan. "Come on, darlin', humor me. You're the one who said we gotta start havin' fun."

"This is not the kind I meant," she said as he went on speaking over her voice.

"And it's the best place for it. What's gonna happen? You're safe at home here with me."

She looked at the bottle. "I really shouldn't, Arthur. I ain't like you; I'm a mother."

"Why, you ain't nursin' him anymore, are ya?" He watched the wheels in her head turn as she eyed the bottle. Finally, she suddenly grabbed it and opened it. "Yeah, that's better!" he said as he watched her bring it up to her mouth, slinging her head back and taking in a gulp. "Woah, woah— Gotta pace yourself there," he chuckled.

She set it back on the table and smacked her tongue against her gums, shaking her head, making a face, and letting out a breath.

"All right," he chuckled. "We doin' this?" When she didn't respond, he brought his bottle up to his mouth as he watched her return to hers.

Several minutes later Eliza was leaning forward, and her head was hanging low as she sat with her forearms folded on the table. When she looked up at him, she had tears in her eyes. "I've never said this outright to ya, but I love you, Arthur. I love you so. I do, I really do."

"I know you do, darlin'," he said wearily, looking at her from his seat adjacent to her. "Keep drinkin'."

She flopped back in her chair and watched forlornly as he raised the bottle to his lips. She took a short breath and sniffed as she turned to her own bottle.

Another several minutes later after they'd both had another several gulps, she was leaning on her elbow facing him with the bottle dangling in one hand. "This just keeps gettin' tastier and tastier." She looked at him. "You know what you are?" she slurred, pointing at him.

"I'm a lotta things," he garbled, raising his eyebrows and blinking. "A lotta damn things."

"You're a bad influence, that's what you are."

"Well, you're…mighty pretty."

"You're a bad influence on me."

"And those eyes a' yours…" he cocked his head. "Right fine sight. Gonna be the death a' me one of these days."

"A bad influence. Always have been, and I think I knew it all along." She swallowed. "You know what the worst part is? I don't give a shit!" she laughed. "Isn't that awful?"

"Because you love me," he mumbled.

Her smile fell abruptly as she looked at him. "That's right. And it ain't fair. 'Cause you know my secrets, and I know none of yours. Yeah, I love you! I love the piss and shit outta you!"

"_Oo-hoo_, get a few drops in her, and she got a mouth on her!" he chuckled. "Right kinda pretty one too, a-and it tastes like honey…"

"You know what your problem is?" she slurred, resting her elbow on the table. "You won't let yourself be loved. And me? My problem is I love you so damn much, I'll let you do whatever you want with me—even _leave_ me! Over and over again! How pathetic is that?" She turned away. "And there you are, somewhere between not caring and love. And I'm not sure if that's a big gap or a real little one. And here we are," she slurred, motioning between the two of them, "pretendin' to be an item of some kind, or pretendin' not to pretend… I can never tell which. And I think I'll only be able to take so many years of it until I go completely mad." She sighed. "I mean, for all I know, you could have some other woman on all the other days you ain't here!"

"Nope," he shook his head.

"Or, you…you could…be visiting brothels or somethin' stupid like that."

"Now if I wanted to go to a whorehouse, I'd be there. I ain't there, am I?"

Still looking away, she shook her head to herself. "What a pair we make. Kinda hilarious, actually," she chuckled as she lifted the bottle to her mouth.

"Yeah, keep drinkin'," he gestured at her bottle. "You ain't there yet."

A few minutes later Eliza was sitting on the table, and they were on each other, her hands in his hair and his hands running up and down her as they hastily kissed.

Suddenly she jerked away and pushed him in the shoulder a couple times. "No. No, you…you stay away from me," she said, catching her breath.

His eyebrows came together as he looked at her with a hand out. "What, you gonna hold me out over the fire like that?"

She put a hand to her forehead. "I gotta get some goddamn self-respect," she breathed. She looked at him and gestured between them. "And neither of us has had enough for this." She jumped down and went back to her bottle.

"Well, that's about the best thing you've said all goddamn night!" he shouted.

She glared at him as she raised the bottle to her mouth.

A little while later after a few more gulps they were sitting at the table again and laughing hysterically.

"It was a shoe!" Eliza snorted and giggled as she keeled over the table. "It was nothing but a shoe!"

Arthur held his belly and slapped his knee as he roiled in hearty laughter.

She looked at him as she laughed. "Oh…" she sighed, "you went and fell in love with a real life wild west cowboy, didn't you, Eliza? Head over heels for a real root-n-toot-n…shoot-n…son of a gun," she stammered with a shake of her head. "Ain't nothin' wrong with that!" she said looking him up and down. "Look at him. He's a sight to see."

"Shut up!" he waved a hand, a hearty chuckle rising up through his chest.

He watched her haphazardly plant her elbow on the table and sit her cheek on the heel of her hand, looking at him with a hazy smile, her eyelids drifting up and down, her head sneaking forward before lagging down completely.

"You…you wanna know my secret?" he said. "Mine is…" He squinted at her, trying to get his balance in the chair. "Well, mine…mine i-is… I think mine is that I'm havin' trouble stoppin'…fallin' right in love with you right back," he stammered in a high pitch with a shaky finger pointed at her. "But, you know, who could blame me," he shrugged, "right? I mean, you're…you're practically an angel right in front of me. The truth is… Actually, there's actually two of 'em. Or maybe three. Three truths," he slurred, holding up two fingers. "One is, I ain't deservin'," he said, touching his index fingers together. "Two is, I'm scared as a stupid lil' kitty. And three is—and this is most important—I think…I think I'm mighty bad for you two, in every way. Every possible way. And anyways, it would only hurt more if I loved you, 'cause I ain't runnin' out on the gang. Can't. Outta the question," he slurred, cutting the air with a wave of his hand. "I been through that before. Ain't fun. Hurts like the devil, actually. So…so maybe that's four reasons," he held up five fingers, trying not to go cross-eyed. "That's a lot. So…you know, it ain't lookin' too good for us. Sorry, darlin'. And you know what? I think I got one even better than that, an even better secret." He swallowed. "It's that I actually wish with all my might I coulda seen you with that big, round belly. As dastardly a bastard as it makes me that I knocked you up, I think it woulda been a mighty special, mighty nice sight for me. I coulda even felt little Isaac move around in there. I even dreamt it up the other day and drew you in my journal without ever seein' you like that with these eyes. That's how bad I wish I'da been there. Just ain't fair!" his voice broke as he lifted his bottle to take another pull on it and stopped to look at her. "Reckon we might have another?"

"Wha…what are you on about?" she groaned and sighed, picking her head up to look at him. "I think…I think I'm only gettin' one of every few words." She giggled through her nose. "It kinda makes you sound like an owl or somethin'."

"I was just askin' if we could have another kid."

"Oh… No, Arthur," she said, her head swaying. "Not if you ain't gonna marry me. Not if you ain't gonna stay. I can hardly keep up with one all on my own, as it is."

He lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head, smirking bitterly as took another swig. "Worth a shot."

Suddenly her head popped up, and her eyes went wide as she hiccuped. "Oh no. I gotta go," she said, getting up and rushing for the front door.

"What?" he squinted after her.

"I gotta pee!" She ran out into the darkness, down the porch steps, and into the weeds in front of the porch.

"Ow, oo, ow!" Arthur heard as he came out. "Hellfire thorny…weeds…"

He stumbled down the porch steps.

"Arthur! What are you doin'?" she whispered when she saw him. She was crouched with her bare bum towards the foliage.

"I gotta go too," he whispered as he walked in her direction.

"Over there! Do it over there!" she laughed, swatting hard and pointing to the other side of the porch.

"Are you tellin' me to piss off?"

She giggled. "If the _shoe_ fits."

They both burst into hushed laughter and snickering.

"Why are we whispering?" she laughed. "The…the baby's inside, we're outside!"

He shrugged as he did his business.

After a few more sips from the bottle, Eliza could hardly see straight, and she couldn't stop giggling. When Arthur went to the bedroom saying it was late, she stumbled after him.

"Uh oh," he said from where he stood at the bedside when he saw her coming. "You got an evil look in your eyes. Never seen that there before."

"You know what I'munna do with you?" she slurred almost completely incoherently as she came towards him.

"D-don't tell me before you do it," he said, bringing his bottle up to his lips.

"I'munna ravage you."

"Oh, sh-sh-shit," he wheezed a laugh, barely taking the lip of the bottle away from his mouth in time and almost spewing his liquor.

"I'munna…skin you to the bone," she pressed a finger to his chest.

"Oh, god."

"I'm just itchin' to touch you, Arthur! Just itchin'! I'munna un-unravel you and find out…just where you begin and end," she stammered, pulling at the opening of his shirt.

"How very ambitious of you."

"Just as soon as I…get these demon, hellfire buttons undone," she said fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. "Maybe if I just tear 'em off."

"Eliza…"

"Oh…" she mumbled weakly in frustration. Finally she leaned forward and started picking at them with her teeth.

"Eliza."

"They'll come off. I know they will. I just know it," she said weakly, sounding for a moment like she was actually going to cry.

"Eliza." He finally took her by the arms and stood her upright.

She looked up at him drearily, her head bobbing. "Well, I…I can't manage it. I guess it's up to you. No matter. I can always count on you to get it up for us, Morgan."

"What?"

"You gonna screw me? I'm standin' here, ain't I?"

"You just call me Morgan?" he squinted at her.

"Come on! Get it up!"

"Shh. Don't."

"Come on!"

"Eliza, you're drunk."

"Come on, you know you can do it!"

"Maybe about as drunk as I've seen a person, and that's sayin' a hell of a lot."

"No? Well…maybe," she said looking down, "maybe you can dip your lucky trigger finger in."

"_Oh my god_, you are so far gone!" he laughed and shook his head. "One thing we've learned here, hun, is you cannot hold your liquor." His eyes grew, and his expression slid when he saw her begin to lift up her skirts. "Oh no. Don't."

"Come on!" she said pulling her skirts up high over her head to reveal her knickers. "Come on, big boy."

"Oh _no_…" he covered his face in his hand. "Put it down, sweetheart."

She giggled as she dropped her skirts. "Don't matter much how you do it; you always make me feel real good," she garbled a chuckle as she dipped her chin. "You even put your mouth on me once; you remember that? And I was so embarrassed that I liked it," she cackled. "'Member?"

"Somehow you're managin' to make me embarrassed about it..."

"Oh boy, that feels like a long time ago," she giggled. "But it's the truth," she slurred in a high tone. "No matter what you do, you always make me feel really, really good. Don't you hear me cry and call for ya?" She threw her head back and began to groan and sigh as if they were really in the middle of it. "Mmm, oh!"

His eyes shot wide. "Shit— What—What the hell're you doin' pullin' that outta nowhere?"

"Oh! Oh, god! Oh, Arthur!" she moaned.

"Shhh! Stop! Stop that!" He looked down at his groin and covered it with his hands. "Shut it! Shut it with that, will you? Quit that, now!"

"Oh! Do it to me again, Arthur!" She let out a wicked, bubbling cackle as she looked forward again. When she saw him cupping his hands over his groin, she gasped. "Did that do it?" She clapped. "Oh, let me see it!"

"No, hush!"

"Oh, please? Please! Oh…I just wanna see it!"

"Naw. It's time for bed. You're really gonna hate me if I let you go on like this, 'cause I think I'm just sober enough now to remember this bit. Well…you're gonna hate me in the mornin' anyways."

"Why, what's happening in the morning?" she said, picking at his shirt again as he tried to corral her to the bed.

"_Eliza._"

"Hm…?" she mumbled, looking up at him. She grinned wide and leaned forward, her eyes blinking one at a time as she fell forward on him and planted her chin on his chest, looking up at him. "I really like it when you say my name. You say my name, and you can have anything you want, you know that?"

He smirked and sighed as he looked down at her face. "You can barely keep your eyes open."

"Oh. Maybe that's true too," she slurred, standing straight. "Guess I'll just have to ravage you tomorrow."

"That word don't seem to fit right sittin' in your pretty little mouth." He turned her and sat her on the bed, lifting her feet up so she had to lie down.

"What, 'ravage'? But it's just what I plan to do to you tomorrow."

"Maybe," he said.

"And maybe you'll love me tomorrow," she said groggily.

"Maybe," he said as he stumbled around to the other side of the bed.

"'Maybe…'" she giggled. "I like that," she said as she rested her head on the pillow. "Maybe we could get a puppy and name her Maybe."

"Maybe."

"No, that's silly! That's silly, Arthur. Maybe ain't a name."

He rested his head on the pillow beside her and yawned. "Maybe."

.

The next morning Eliza woke feeling like she'd slammed her head against a brick wall. "Dear sweet Jesus, have mercy," she whispered as she picked her face up off the pillow. She felt Arthur rustle against her.

"Ah, shi… Fu… Christ," he finally muttered. "Somebody close the goddamn curtains."

She blinked and squinted in the sharp, unforgiving light, and her mouth was like a desert. Her temple was thumping, and it hurt to even lift her eyelids, since it felt like she was raking hot coals across her eyes. "Ooh… Do you hurt as bad as me?"

He sighed. "I don't know," he mumbled with his fingers on his eyelids. "You're probably worse off, but not by much."

Still lying on her belly, she turned to face him bleary-eyed. Only then did she realize they were both still in their day-clothes. "What did we do? Whatever it was, I'm paying the steep price. The last thing I remember is agreeing to have some of that bourbon you brought home."

"That was enough to do it."

She groaned and dropped her head in her hand. "So this is what all those men feel the next morning."

A soft grunt escaped him as he pulled himself up to a sitting position against the headboard. "Yeah…you weren't ever supposed to feel it. I'm sorry, darlin'."

She massaged her temple. "Well, there has to be more to it than I can remember. I've seen people drunk. I'm afraid to ask if you remember what we were like."

"Don't remember all of it," he gently shook his head. "Just the end there. But that was memorable enough," he smirked, giving his head a brief tilt to the side.

"What do you mean…?" she eyed him.

"At one point you were tryin' to tear my buttons off with your teeth."

"What?" her forehead wrinkled up.

"Yeah…you got kinda filthy after that. It weren't very ladylike. At all."

"Oh, no…" she moaned, covering her face in her hands.

"Funny as hell though."

"What are you sayin', I threw myself at you?"

"Darlin'—if you could throw yourself any harder, you'd break your own neck. And it was more than once," he chuckled wheezily.

She took a breath, pressing her fingers to her eyes. "Oh, that scares me so." She looked back up at him, a flush creeping over her face. "Thank you…Arthur, f-for not…"

"While you were in _that_ state? Uh-uh," he shook his head. "No point. Wouldn'a been nearly as fun, and it woulda frightened the daylights outta you in the morning if you couldn't remember it. Wasn't about to do that to ya. I might be a wretch, but I ain't got a totally black heart."

"Thank you." She moaned and covered her head. "I'm so sorry you had to see that. Ugh, and you remember it, no less! I'm perfectly horrified."

"Don't worry about it," he drawled. "Was actually kinda nice for me to see that you ain't a perfect, pristine little doll." He looked over at her. "You really don't remember any of it?"

"Not a thing."

He watched her struggle to get out of bed. "Where you goin'?"

"To check on our son," she said plainly. She gasped and looked down. "Careful when you get up. There's broken glass here."

He sat forward. "You hurt yourself?"

"No…thankfully. I'll come back and clean it up when I finish feeding Isaac."

He half-frowned as he watched walk gingerly to the door. "I didn't mean for you to forget part of your birthday, hun."

"No—_today_," she said. "Today is my birthday."

As she left the room, he dropped his face in his hand. "_Shit!_" he bit out in a low tone. He removed his hand and rested his head back against the headboard. "'Happy birthday! Here, have some bottle-ache!'" He rolled his eyes at himself. "Morgan, you really outdone yourself, you moron."

He got up, swept up the glass, and went into the sitting room to see her and Isaac at the kitchen table.

"Oh please, eat it, baby," she said quietly with a spoon in her hand and her temple in her palm.

Arthur poured himself a mug of stale coffee, scooped himself some leftover food into a bowl, and came to sit at the table across from her.

"Won't you please eat it for mama?" she said holding the spoon out.

Arthur watched Isaac turn his face forcefully from the spoon repeatedly, left and right, until she finally succeeded in popping it into his mouth. When she pulled it away, he made a horrible grimace and dribbled something green out onto his chin. Eliza immediately scraped up the bit from his chin and tried to feed it to him again.

He whipped his head away in disgust, his eyebrows drawing up as he whined a little cry. "Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah!" he babbled, slapping his pudgy little hand repeatedly on the table.

"What is that?" Arthur said, looking into her bowl.

"Mashed peas."

He craned his neck back for a second and made a disgusted frown. "Don't give him that shit. Here," he said trading it with his own bowl and feeding a spoonful to Isaac, who tasted a little and reached out for the spoon, not allowing him to take it away. Arthur smiled.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Sweet potato and molasses."

She smirked and sighed, dropping her cheek onto the heel of her hand as she watched him feed him. And she knew Isaac would forever love sweet potato, because his father had given it to him.

He looked over at her. "You still got bottle-ache?"

"Haven't you?"

"Yeah…" he frowned.

"How long does it last?" she said rubbing her forehead. "Feels as if my stomach's a boulder, but somehow it's ready to come up."

He sighed. "You should have some coffee. And drink as much water as possible. I'll fry us up some hash in a bit. I know it don't sound right, but the greasier, the better." He watched her forlornly as she closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hand between her brows. "I never shoulda let you touch a drop. The drink, it's…it's for sour ol' idiots. It ain't for sweet, pleasant little girls," he said with a shake of his head.

She looked up at him, her head still in her hand. "That's just it, Arthur. I don't want you to think of me as a kid forever."

"Well—" he huffed with a hand out. "It's what you are!" He tipped his head. "…Just about. Anyways, what's so wrong with that? Kids ain't supposed to worry their heads about things, they're supposed to live good lives. They're bright-eyed, and…" he looked back at Isaac as he fed him, "they ain't supposed to be shown the worst in the world, just yet. They see the good in things. I'll say again, what's so wrong with it?"

"Well, they're…they're thought of as silly. Brainless, insignificant, stupid," she shook her head gently as she looked down at the table.

His brows came together as he looked at her, and he sat back in his chair. "Tell me how you feel about Isaac."

She looked up at him flatly. "You know how I feel about Isaac."

He dipped his head. "Tell me again."

She took a deep breath and folded her forearms on the table. "I love him more than life, and I'd give anything for him."

He nodded. "And he's a kid, ain't he?"

"Yes—"

"And do any of the words you just said come into your mind when you think about him?" he said with half-mast, nearly sardonic eyes that signaled he knew the answer as he sat up to feed Isaac the next bite.

She tried not to grin. "No."

"All right then." He cocked his jaw to the side as he reached for his mug. "You just focus on bein' just exactly who you are, Eliza. Don't let me sully you. Or, at least…try not to."

"I—"

"I'm done with this conversation. I don't want you worryin' about it," he said as he brought the mug to his lips. He watched her from over the rim as she looked down and smiled. "'Sides. You ain't just a kid," he placed his mug back on the table. "Like you said last night before we got to drinkin': you're a mother. And a damn good one at that. I've told you before. Best I've seen. Almost noble." He sighed and gave his head a little tilt to the side. "So there it is," he said, going back to scooping a spoonful for Isaac. "It makes me a steaming heap of horse shit, and it makes you noble."

With her elbow still on the table, she rested the whole side of her face in her hand and looked at him with a smile before reaching out for his mug of coffee and taking a sip. She made a face and replaced it before him.

"Well, make a fresh pot then!" he laughed.

"In a minute. I like watching you two."

Arthur lifted another spoonful to his son's lips, and Isaac took all of the sweet potato on the tip of the spoon into his mouth, smacking his lips and making a mumbled gratified sound as he looked up at his father with a bright, squishy smile. He opened and closed his fists and leaned forward with an open mouth for more. Arthur's face smoothed as he grinned and let a breathy chuckle come through his nose.

He looked back at her. "All right," he said. "Second try is always better than the first, they say. What'll you have for your _actual_ birthday?"

"Are you sayin' we'll stop feelin' like this at some point today?" she chuckled, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Yeah, it shouldn't last into the afternoon if we nurse it right. So tell me what you'd like." He took another sip from his mug.

She slowly smiled. "What I was too afraid to ask is… What I really wanted is actually to go fishin' with you, Arthur."

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief as he set his mug back down. "That's all you wanted this whole damn time?"

She grinned and nodded profusely.

"What are we gonna do with Isaac?"

"Don't worry; I can get someone to watch him for one evening. It is my birthday, after all. I'm sure I deserve one night off, with no responsibility. Won't you take me fishin' with you tonight?"

He smirked as he fed Isaac another spoonful, and his eyes slid over to her. "Fishin' it is."

.

* * *

**Dear readers,**

**These two are going to kill me. And baby Isaac! I LOVE him. I'm hoping to upload the second part of this tomorrow. :) I was self-conscious about this chapter because it's so off-color, and since humor varies so widely, I never know if others will find the same things funny that I do. But I figured as embarrassed as I am, it has to be that much more embarrassing for the characters, which**—**what can I say?**—**is exactly what it was meant to be.**

**For those interested, I went back and added Arthur's accompanying journal notes to my drawings on Ao3. You know, those notes he _wouldn't _let Eliza see? ;) **archive of our own works/22767514/chapters/57619507

**There seems to be a few more of you, which is exciting! I hope you enjoy reading, and I'd love to hear your thoughts whenever you feel so inclined. You guys are the bestest!**

**\- Rosie**

**P.S. Sweet Gracie, I hate to tell you this, but you should probably get an account on at least one of these sites. ;) It makes it so much more fun. (I'm teasing! You don't have to if you don't want to.)**


	20. 20

[This chapter was partially inspired by the song "Fishing in the Dark" by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, though I haven't quoted the lyrics.]

* * *

.

"Oh, I am just a vagabond,

a drifter on the run.

And eloquent profanity,

it rolls right off my tongue.

.

And I have dined in palaces,

drunk wine with Kings and Queens;

but darlin', oh darlin',

you're the best thing I ever seen.

.

Won't you roll me easy,

oh, slow and easy…

you walkin' talkin' paradise,

sweet paradise."

.

\- Little Feat, "Roll Um Easy"

* * *

That evening after Eliza had dropped Isaac off for the night with Addie, she got back to the house to find Arthur in his rugged getup and hat, already loading up their fishing poles onto his horse.

"How is the old goat?" he said.

She shot him a look and shook her head, trying hard not to smirk. "She's just fine. She was happy to see Isaac."

"What'd you tell her?"

"Just that I…needed a little break, some time for myself on my birthday. It wasn't a lie."

He gave her a wry look, but she ignored it as she got up into the saddle, and he followed to sit behind her.

"All right," he sighed. "You know the area better than me. Where to?"

"I'm gonna take you somewhere special," she said pointing past the trees. As the sun disappeared behind the horizon, he goaded his mare forward. "It's quite a ways, but nobody goes there anymore on account of this nasty town legend that grew a bit big for its breeches."

"And what legend is that?" he mumbled.

"Well," she said, "there used to be this real mean ol' feller—I hardly remember him, but what I do ain't flowery—Old Man Crowley. He was kinda scary for a little girl. He had scars all over his face and—"

"I've got those," he took exception in a high pitch.

"Yours are…different," she looked back up at him with a timid smile.

"Okay," he gave an airy chuckle.

She faced forward again. "Anyways, it weren't just the way he looked. He was always haranguing people and antagonizing townsfolk—"

"You better skip ahead and quit describin' Mr. Crowley," he mumbled as he scratched behind his ear.

"One day a few folks saw him from a distance when he jumped off the cliff way up high above the big pond where I'm takin' you; but when they went down, his body was nowhere to be found, and it never washed up. Some folks said he transformed into an evil water-dweller that lives deep in the pond, because a lot of strange things happened near there for a little while afterwards. Bloody fish and small animal carcasses appeared on shore, and fishermen said they'd turn and turn back just in time to see their poles suddenly sucked under the water. They even warned children to stay away, because they said there was no tellin' how big of a somethin' the monster could drag under with him." She began to shake against his chest as he snickered.

"Didn't know this was such a superstitious town."

"Well, they ain't usually. But they didn't know what to make of finding no body. What would you think?"

"I don't know. But not that!" he laughed. "You must not believe any of it if you're takin' us there."

"'Course not. It's just a silly folktale, Arthur."

"Uh-huh," he mumbled under his breath. He took out his lantern as it grew dark.

"The real good thing about it is that not a soul's visited there in years. I bet it's real quiet, a perfect spot for fishin'. And we'll have it all to ourselves. Up this way," she directed him through the trees when they started on a bit of an incline. "I had my first kiss on the little dock, the last time I was there. Brett Haley."

"Brett Haley, huh? You've still got his name in your head…" he grumbled.

"It was just a little peck, nothin' more."

"Yeah, sure, I hear ya."

"We were eleven, Arthur!"

"Eleven! Jesus, you said a peck, and I was thinkin' four or five! Couldna been as innocent then!"

"It was plenty innocent! He used to pull my pigtails and braids at church when we were really little, and my mama hated it so when I'd get rowdy and try to fight back."

He chuckled. "You'd run after 'im, huh?" He could just picture her running wild until her mother forced her to stand still by her side with a stern use of her name, and she'd turn and scrunch up that freckled nose at her terrorizer.

"I could run with the fastest of the boys. A skirt never stopped me. But my mama sure did," she chuckled. "Anyway, he was always horrible to me; he could pull my hair so hard. Turned out he was sweet on me."

"Yeah," he sighed, "that's usually how it goes."

"Really?!"

"Yeah. Feller still in these parts?"

"Oh, no. He went off to become a lawyer or somethin'. I never did keep track of him. I just wasn't meant for Brett Haley."

He swallowed as she took a breath and leaned back against him. "So," he cleared his throat, "you hopin' to catch a trout? Or somethin' else?"

She suddenly gasped and sat forward. "What is that?"

"What?"

"Look." She pointed at a pair of beady green eyes in the darkness.

"What—that?" He moved his lantern in the direction of the eyes. "It's just a little opossum!" he laughed. "Ain't nothin' gonna getchyou, girl. Long as I'm here. You think any critter stands a chance against my revolver?"

She sat back again.

He shook his head and chuckled at her. "I thought you'd be used to things like that, growin' up round here. We gotta get you into an outdoorswoman, I guess."

"It's not that!" she clucked her tongue. "It's just, it's so dark. I don't make a habit of hanging around in the darkness—does anybody?"

"You'd be surprised. Anyway, you're the one who wanted to go night fishin'."

She let out a breath. "I haven't in a very long time."

"Let me guess—it was with your daddy." When she didn't respond, he hoped he hadn't sounded too curt. "You two catch anything?"

She nodded. "He was a wonderful fisherman. Mama said he could charm the fish right out of the water."

"Well…I think you're in for a very different experience with me. I'm a pretty piss-poor fisherman myself."

"We'll see."

As they finally reached a break in the dense forest and approached the secluded pond, he dismounted and helped her down. They took out their fishing poles, baited their hooks, went to the end of the little old dock, and casted their lines. Eliza removed her boots and sat, dangling her feet in the water, and he sat beside her. They stayed quiet like that for a while in the crisp night air, with no other company but a fish coming up to graze the surface of the water, the lightning bugs, and the symphony of crickets surrounding them.

Finally Eliza removed a hand from her pole and reached her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Well, you ain't ever gonna catch a fish like that," he chuckled.

She quietly picked her head up and pulled her arm out from his, returning her hand to her pole. "It was never about catching fish, Arthur."

It took him a moment, but he looked over at her. He watched her as she kept her gaze out at the still water. He returned his own gaze forward and wondered if he'd always be a big, dumb moron.

Eliza took a full breath of the chilly night air and looked around at the deep pond she hadn't seen in years. She hated the fact that she had a little pang in her chest from Arthur's words that had caused her to put space between them again. It made her feel so needlessly melodramatic to hurt from something so small and silly; she was even certain that he hadn't meant to hurt her. It was just that he was so hard to get close to, in every way. She didn't feel any anger; just an empty helplessness.

She was just thinking that perhaps he should take her home, that there was really no point to sitting here, when she felt a warmth towards the back of her jaw near her ear. As she began to turn, Arthur kissed her cheek and rested his forehead against her temple. She finally turned to face him and realized he'd put his pole away. She closed her eyes when he kissed her on the lips, and she felt him taking her pole out of her hand. He drew away and began quickly reeling her line in.

She let out a soft laugh. "You can be very literal, can't you?"

He chuffed a laugh and looked over at her briefly before tucking the hook and setting her pole back on the dock.

He came close, leaning his weight on the heel of his hand as he rested it on the dock, and bringing his other hand to her cheek as he kissed her slowly. He could feel her getting caught up in the kiss, leaning closer to him. He suddenly sat back and looked at her, beginning to unbutton his shirt. "You know, I think it's time I had another bath. You gonna give it to me?"

Without moving a muscle, her brows drew together, and she peered at him in confusion.

He grinned and slipped his suspenders off before standing and removing the rest of his clothes.

She didn't move, but slid her eyes up to watch him as he shed his layers of clothing one after the other. "Oh god, Arthur…" she said low, "you are no Brett Haley." She finally snapped out of it and lifted her head. "Wait—what are you doing? There's no way you're walkin' into that pond!"

"'Course not," he said, hopping as he removed his boots and slipped his breeches the rest of the way off.

"All right. Good. Thank you."

"I'm jumpin'." He tossed his hat on the heap of his clothes, and without another word, he turned and leapt off the dock into the water with a big splash.

She gasped and stood, watching as he went under and bobbed back up, wiping his hands across his face and back over his hair. "So unlike you, Arthur!"

"Guess not." He slid his fingers over his nose and spit into the water. "Come on. In you go."

She lifted her brows high and took a step back from the edge.

"Don't make me come getchyou."

She huffed. "You wouldn't."

"Don't tempt me," he said in a low, sardonic chuckle. He watched her as she folded her arms and remembered something she'd said the night before about his using her name. "Eliza." She turned further away, fidgeting as she tried not to look back at him. "Eliza…"

Flustered, she dropped her arms. "_Oh_. Arthur!"

"You know you're comin' in," he smirked.

She bit her lip. "It's cold, ain't it? I just had my feet in there a second ago! I know it's cold!"

He let out a laugh. "It ain't frigid, but it ain't the president's bathtub, I'll just tell you that."

Finally she relented, reaching back to undo her stays. "Oh… Fine. But I ain't jumpin'."

"Fair enough."

She removed her frock and slipped off her chemise and pantaloons, leaving them on the dock before sitting and slipping into the water. She immediately opened her mouth wide and let out a high-pitched hoot.

"It ain't that bad. You'll grow accustomed to it in a bit."

Neither of them were able to touch the bottom. She bobbed under and slicked her hair back when she came up and looked at him. "So I just do whatever you ask of me, is that the pattern here?"

"Well, you don't gotta read into it none," he drawled in a deep tone. "Come here."

She swam to him and smiled when he brought his hands to her back beneath the water. "I want you to know this is truly not what I had in mind when I asked for fishin'."

He looked away with a smile. "Seems a pretty good trade-off to me." He looked back at her and shrugged. "So we scandalize a few fish."

She laughed and brought her arms around his neck. "You didn't know just how poor of a fisherman you are, Mr. Morgan," she said sweetly. "You've completely abandoned all hope of catchin' anything at all."

"Well, Miss Eliza," he smiled, looking down at her mouth, "the night's still young."

She smiled bright, leaning close. "Oh yeah?"

He nodded with a growing smirk.

She lowered her mouth to his and kissed him deeply in the still and dark of night with the quiet lightning bugs dancing in the air around them. She felt the warmth of his skin through the cold water, felt his firm, sharp angles against her soft ones, and noticed again the way their bodies fit perfectly together, like puzzle pieces.

After a few minutes floating like that, she realized they were suddenly sinking fast. As Arthur's mouth and face went under, she squeaked and broke away from him.

"Hey…" he mumbled as he bobbed back up and realized she was far away. "Come back here."

"No, Arthur, you're gonna drag me under with you!" she laughed. "Don't you know how to swim?"

"Well, sure I do. Just not very well, I guess," he said with a little nervous chuckle. "Come on back."

Her face relaxed with a grin as she began to swim towards him again. When she was just close enough, he flicked his wrist and sent a big splash up into her face. She squealed and sputtered, wiping her face as he laughed. "Arthur!" She swam back even farther away.

"Aw, come on! Come on, hun! I didn't mean it," he laughed.

"You most certainly did," she chuckled. "You're lucky I'd rather protect myself than get you back."

"Come on. Get back over here."

"No!"

"Come on…" he started to swim closer, and she backed away. "Get back over here!"

"_No_," she laughed. "I'm not as stupid as I look, Arthur."

Floating still in the water, he looked at her. "You don't look stupid. And you ain't."

"Well, everyone tells me I do. And everyone keeps actin' like I am."

He tisked his tongue. "Oh, I never meant anything like that."

"I know you didn't."

"I promise I won't do it again. I swear! Come on back," he drawled in a low, sweet tone. He swam closer, and she backed away again, though it wasn't quite as far this time. "Come on back to me, darlin'."

She slowly shook her head with a grin.

"_Eliza…_"

A quiet little laugh left her as he came closer, and she met his eye and shook her head again. "You just stay away!"

He read what was in her eyes and knew that even though he'd managed to get closer than he'd been, they were caught in a stalemate—that she would just keep backing away. He smirked a half-frown and looked away. When he glanced back at her from the corner of his eyes, she was sighing and watching her own hand glaze the surface of the water. "You haven't stopped thinkin' about Isaac, have you?"

She shook her head and glanced up at him. "No." She continued slowly swiping her hand back and forth, dancing her fingers across the water. "How could I? We've never really been apart. Except that once I tried to go to work for a few hours when he was a week old…so stupid." Without looking at him, she asked, "You think he's okay?"

"He's with a midwife," he huffed a little laugh. "He's just fine."

She brought both arms around herself and took another deep breath. "He's my whole world, Arthur. He's my everything." She watched as one of the fireflies came close, and she lifted a hand beneath it as it hovered in the air. "You—" she swallowed as she followed the firefly with her hand when it flew off. "You just gotta know there's good in you if you helped make that sweet, precious little boy." She watched his expression as he looked back at her. She was taken aback by just how much heaviness he was trying to hide behind it.

"How can you be so sure it didn't all come from you?"

She hung her head and swallowed back her tears. "Arthur…" she whimpered, a deep sorrow filling her chest as she looked back up at him. "I can hardly take words like that comin' outta your mouth anymore. I can't…" she trailed off as she looked away and shook her head.

Arthur swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Look at me, I'm even managin' to ruin your birthday again—for the second time!" he tried to chuckle.

She scoffed bitterly and sniffed. "You can only ruin it once, 'cause there's only one birthday."

"Eh, that's right…" he smiled. "See, you are smart." His smile brightened when she chuckled. "Well, let's…let's don't let it be ruined then, huh?" He came just a little closer and was glad when she didn't move. "Look. Look where we are. Just look!"

They both looked around and gazed up to see the deep indigo, star-filled sky surrounded by a black border of evergreens, with a big, bright moon peering down at them.

"Wow," she breathed. "Never seen it at night like this."

They floated there for a couple minutes with their heads craned upwards, listening to the soothing hoots of owls and the crickets' natural violins.

When Arthur brought his head forward again to look at her, he decided she still wasn't close enough for his taste. He got an idea and yanked free a long piece of reed he felt grazing him beneath the water. He made a sudden little gasp and kept himself from smiling when she looked at him. "Shit. Somethin' just brushed my leg," he said, quickly looking around at the water.

She looked at him with half-mast, sardonic eyes. "There are fish in here, Arthur."

He gave her a grave look and lifted a single brow, keeping his tone low and serious. "It _weren't_ like that." When her eyes slowly grew a little and she turned about to look down at the water, he reached the reed out to touch her. She immediately yelped and squealed, rushing for him and clinging to him, just as he'd wanted.

"I felt it! I felt it!" she huffed, frantically clutching her arms around his neck and wrapping her thighs around his waist as she looked back down into the water. "What was that?!"

He held her close but turned and craned his face away. Pulling his lips in tight, he managed not to make a sound.

"W-was that… Y-you think that was…?"

He looked back at her. "Sure as hell weren't like any fish I've ever touched!" He watched her eyes grow to the size of oranges when she realized that he—even he—was entertaining the thought of the fairytale after what he'd felt. And he knew her mind was drifting to consider that if it was real, they were both literally naked and defenseless, with Arthur even being without his trusty gun. He felt the grip of her arms and legs tighten around him.

"Get us outta here, Arthur!" she almost screamed. With her arms still around his neck and her legs still around his waist, she tucked her head into the crook of his neck and squealed as he brought his hands under her thighs and hurriedly made for the shore, splashing boisterously as he went.

When he finally reached where he could touch the bottom, he quickly sloshed and trudged one leg at a time until they were on land. He set her far from the shore on the cool green grass and rushed for the big rolled sleeping mat on his horse as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and ferociously shivered. When he returned with the thick blanket, he threw it around her and quickly began rubbing her dry as she shook. He looked up at her face and noticed the way her bottom lip trembled violently.

"Y-you all right?" he asked. He watched her struggle to nod and heard her teeth chatter.

"Y-you need to get dry t-too. C-come in here w-with me, we'll both get w-warm."

He smiled. "All right. O-open up." When she lifted it, he climbed in and pulled it under and around them both so they could lie down. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, but it took still another several minutes for them both to completely cease shaking and for their breathing to return to normal. He thought about how it was even better than what he'd envisioned, and little huffed laughs began to escape him.

She turned her head and looked at him. "What?" When his chuckling started to grow, her brows drew together. "What?"

"There—" a snicker came through his nose. "I touched you with a reed. There weren't nothin' in that water, girl!"

Her eyes popped wide and flashed with incredulous disdain as she gasped, swatting and pushing him hard. "_Arthur!_"

He erupted into hearty laughter. "Guess you do believe in that legend a little more than you let on!"

She tried to keep from blushing. "_Ugh!_ You're _awful!_" she laughed. "Just awful! Always have been, haven't you?!" She clucked her tongue. "Why would you… Arthur…" she grumbled, pushing him again.

As his laughter trickled away, he looked down at her smile. "Guess I'm a better fisherman than any of us knew. I can charm 'em out of the water even better than your daddy."

She scoffed and nudged him, looking at him from the corner of her eyes with a wry smirk. She suddenly got a chill and shuddered. "Don't let the cold air in. Close it up."

She watched him pulled the blanket tightly closed, making sure there were no openings. When he turned to face her again, she cuddled up close to him, wrapping her arms around his chest. But she kept herself from tucking her head under his chin, so she could still look out above the blanket at the wilderness.

As they went still and quiet again, she whispered to him. "Sometimes at night, when I listen and I hear no birdsong like I do in the bright of day, I think about them snuggled up tight together in their nests, and it makes me laugh. Even the birds have to sleep."

He turned his face to look at her and gently shook his head, a bright smile slowly growing across his face. "The kinda things you think about…" When she returned his smile, he brought his arms more snugly around her and kissed her cheek.

She looked up at the sky and began picking out constellations. "That one's a sailboat. And that one…a parasol."

"All right, I'm followin' ya…" he gazed up with her.

She squinted. "That one… That's a dog. Definitely a dog."

"Yeah."

"That one kinda looks like your horse!"

"Who, Boadicea?"

She nodded.

"Oh yeah… So it does."

"What do you think that one is?"

He tipped his head. "I really hate bein' the one to say this, but it looks like a knife."

"Arthur!"

"What!" he shrugged. "Try to tell me it doesn't."

She peered at it again, and her face relaxed.

"Uh-huh…" he nodded. "You can't deny it. Try to make me out to be a brute…" he mumbled.

"It looks like a knife," she chuckled softly with a nod to the side. She gasped and pointed her finger out of the blanket. "Look!"

He looked where she'd pointed in time to see a tiny light glide across the face of the sky.

"I haven't seen many of them. What do you think those are?" she asked.

"What all the other ones are, I guess."

She laughed. "One of 'em just got loose?"

He gently turned his face to look at her as she went on picking out shapes.

"That one looks like lily of the valley. My favorite flower."

"Mm-hmm."

"And that one looks like a banjo. Or a lollipop," she said turning her head.

"Mm-hmm."

"Right here. This is a wonderful birthday, Arthur." Her eyes flitted across the sky. "Just look at it," she breathed. "It's full to the brim with stars tonight."

"Liza."

"Hm."

"Ain't the stars I'm lookin' at."

Eliza slowly turned her head to look into his eyes. She pushed the thought far away that all he wanted was to get lucky. She knew she already was.

She kissed him soft and slow, feeling her body go even warmer than it had been. She ran her hands up and down his abdomen and chest as she kissed his collarbone.

"Are you 'just itchin' to touch me'?" he mumbled over her head.

"Hm?" she said as she looked at him.

"Nothin'," he chuckled.

Her brows came together for a moment. She kissed him on the lips and began to make love to him, and before long, she'd begun kissing his neck.

"You know, actually…you don't sound anything like what you tried to give me last night," he said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Nothin'."

"Arthur!"

"Nothin'! It's nothin'!" he laughed.

"Quit it!" she said biting his ear lobe.

"Ow."

"If you're gonna say somethin', I better hear what it is!"

"All right! Fine!"

They both mumbled little half-giggles as she drew back to kiss him on the mouth again.

"You're horrible," she said between kisses.

"Apparently not horrible enough."

She shook her head with a breathy chuckle.

Though she kept her body close to his, as she continued to slowly make love to him the blanket fell partly away, and he brought his hands to her back.

"You know somethin'…" he whispered to her with a smile, "I ain't even cold."

A bright smile spread over her face.

When they'd finished she brought the blanket back over them as she lied beside him. After a few minutes she realized he was quickly falling asleep.

"Arthur. Arthur," she whispered, shaking him. "You can't fall asleep!"

He groaned. "Why not?"

"Because we've gotta get back! We can't sleep out here in the open wilderness!"

"I do it all the time!"

"Well I ain't! I have no interest sleepin' out here when you're asleep too."

He opened a single eye to look at her.

They dressed, and Eliza reached up and pressed his hat on him with a smile. They packed their things onto his horse and got into the saddle to ride home. She leaned back against him as they rode on, and after a few minutes like that, she was almost asleep.

"Oh, I can't sleep, but you can?" he said.

She smiled and turned as much as she could to the side, nestling closer into his chest.

He knew she was asleep when he saw her chest rise and fall in a steady pattern, like he'd seen before. He tried to look forward again, but something about her snagged his eye. He couldn't decide if it was the flush on her freckled nose from the chill, her long eyelashes lying softly against her cheeks, or the way the blonde wisps of hair around her forehead caught in the breezy night air. All of it together was more than he thought any one person should possess.

When his mare's eagerness to get home started to show and Eliza gently rustled against him, he quietly called out to her. "Shh, easy. Go slow, Bo. We're in no hurry."

His hips moved with the horse as she slowly navigated down the rugged terrain. He smirked when the thought occurred to him that he himself was Eliza's only bed at the moment. He looked back down at her and considered the way she was so easily putting her faith in him—in this moment, that he wouldn't let her fall and would get her home safely, and in all others. For a minute he felt it painful to swallow. He was willing to bet good money that other than getting her home in one piece, he was the worst place for her to put her faith.

* * *

"The moon and you appear to be

So near and yet so far from me.

And here am I on a night in June

Reaching for the moon and you."

\- Ella Fitzgerald, "Reaching for the Moon"

* * *

The next morning when Eliza returned from picking up Isaac, she rode up quietly when she saw something strange at the porch. She dismounted, unwrapped Isaac and brought him around to her side, and quietly walked up to see Arthur on his knees with his hands in the weeds in front of the porch. She smiled and bit her lip to keep from laughing when she heard him singing and mumbling to himself.

"_For now I am a prisoner, in the Stillwater Jail I lie…_"

She took another step to see that he was tearing and pulling up the weeds, and he had bunches of flowers with big roots on the ground beside him.

"What're you doin' there, Arthur?"

He looked up at her and cleared his throat. "Oh, I was just… Found these on my morning ride, managed to get 'em up by the roots. Thought you'd like 'em here. They ain't got no thorns."

With a lift of her chin, she smiled at him as she climbed the porch steps. "Ah. I bet _Isaac_ will like them too," she said as she turned to go into the house.

He stilled, only realizing after she'd brought attention to it that he'd said only mentioned her, and not Isaac.

* * *

One Night a Few Weeks Later

As Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea rode back into camp after a successful raid, Dutch let out a hoot.

"Did you see those boys fly?" he said in his deep, gravelly voice. "Got the drop on 'em, robbed 'em, and took 'em out one by one before the law ever got wind to turn its head. I think that might be a record. Yeah, you fellas did good," he said as they all dismounted. "And to the victors go the spoils." He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a box of cigars they'd lifted, opening it and doling them out to the others. "Be well and take a load off tonight; you deserve it." He watched Arthur walk to his tent. "Hey, Arthur. I'm ridin' too high to turn in just yet," he said as he lifted his cigar to his mouth and took a puff. "What do you say we head into town, see if we can't rustle us up a couple skirts, huh? Get our beaks wet a little while we're at it. Nothing too off the rails. Huh, what do you say? My treat."

"Nah, I'm not interested," Arthur said simply.

Dutch paused. "You must be joking," he laughed. "What, are you sick? Stopped up or something?"

"I _said_. I ain't. Interested."

"You're really gonna call it a night like an old man?"

"Get it through your head, Dutch," he drawled low.

"All right, just trying to show my son a good time," he said, leaving the cigar in his mouth and mumbling a bit. "But have it your way. Go jack off in your tent all alone."

"You can be a real sick horse's ass, you know that?" Arthur shook his head as he ducked into his tent.

Dutch's brows knit together. He used his tongue to move his cigar until it was lodged between his molars and looked over at Hosea with a knowing glare. They needed no words between them. They were the only two who knew Arthur's possible reasons for declining. While Dutch's stance was easy, his jaw was tense. Hosea lifted his brows and shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head with a smirk.

.

* * *

**Dear Readers,**

**You didn't know Dutch and Hosea would pop into this story! ;)**

**I truly appreciate you guys sticking with me. I had been nervous about having so much of a non-in-game, non-Arthur character in my fic, thinking readers would grow weary or tired of her and want more of or exclusively Arthur. But I can't create that way, because I believe relationships of all kinds are two-way streets, and this is a story of relationships. I also worried folks would find my Eliza cloyingly sweet, prim, and perfect. But I think there's plenty of material to round her out at this point. She has her own struggles and imperfections.**

**This is basically my therapy regarding no DLC :( —writing the one I've wanted so badly. I knew I had to create a character whom I felt deserved Arthur, even though I knew he'd never allow himself to have something good with someone. And I knew I had to personally adore her and provide enough backstory and character development to show the reasons why. She came straight out of my heart. :) So again, I can't thank you guys enough for sticking with me. I hope future chapters won't disappoint. :)**

**\- Rosie**


	21. 21

One morning when Arthur had returned once again, he and Eliza were awakened by the sound of a rooster's screeching the news of another daybreak.

Arthur groaned and turned on his pillow, bringing his arms over his head. "Remind me why we have chickens," he mumbled into the pillow. He heard her laugh and felt her lips on the back of his shoulder.

"Because eggs are good eatin'. That reminds me…" Still in her nightgown with her hair loose, she rested her chin on his bare shoulder. "I need you to help me catch one today."

He groaned again.

"While you're here! It's my least favorite thing. I need your help while you're here."

He whimpered and whined.

"Come on!"

"Eliza..." he moaned. "Why do you need to catch one? I thought you were usin' the eggs!"

"Sure…but we have a rooster to make more chickens…because I thought you liked my fried chicken." She smiled as she watched him pick his head up off the pillow. "Come on! Up! You wake Isaac, and I'll get breakfast ready." She slapped his shoulder a couple times before moving to leave the bed.

"You sure are good at askin' nice," he drawled in a grumble as he turned his head around on the pillow to face her.

She stayed in bed a moment longer and looked back at him, clucking her tongue. "Oh, I'm sorry…I meant to _order_ you," she said sweetly, and her smile widened when she saw him roll his eyes. She slowly climbed atop his back. "You like it like this better?" She rested her palms on his bare back and kissed between his shoulders. "Out of bed…" she said gently and returned her lips to his skin, smiling when she saw his small grin, "wake Isaac…" she kissed him again, "catch us a chicken. In that order." She suddenly bounced on him, causing him to groan loudly. "Up! Let's go!"

She climbed out of bed, dressed, and went to the kitchen. A little while later she saw Arthur come out dressed and go to the baby's room, coming out with Isaac on his side, with his big arm under his bottom.

"I don't think he's too sure about openin' his eyes to see my ugly mug instead of his mama," he chuckled.

She looked over and tried not to laugh when she saw Isaac looking at him with something like a perplexed stare. "At least he's not crying." She immediately opened her mouth wide. "I didn't mean it like that. Really, I didn't! I meant it as a good thing! He could be, but he ain't!"

"Yeah, yeah, I getchya."

When Isaac caught sight of her, he immediately leaned forward and reached both arms out to her.

"Oh, you hungry? Come on, let's eat," she said bringing him into her arms as she turned and set a plate on the table before Arthur. "Boiled today 'cause I had 'em ready to peel, and it was fast. Salt's there," she pointed to the table. She turned twice more to transfer her own plate and a bowl of porridge to the table with her free hand before sitting Isaac in his little custom wooden seat at the table.

Arthur sat in the chair beside her but found he was more interested in watching them than in eating. She began tearing pieces of egg white from her eggs and giving them to Isaac, and feeding him spoonfuls of porridge before ever taking a bite herself. Isaac would reach out for the egg white, bend his stubby little fingers around it, and haphazardly stuff it into his mouth and munch on it, which was when Arthur would catch a glimpse of his beautiful budding teeth. Eliza nibbled at one of her eggs, but she wasn't getting far. It was almost like she was subconsciously saving all of it for him, in case he was in the mood to eat that morning, which he appeared to be.

"Don't you got anymore eggs boiled?" Arthur asked, not wanting her to go hungry.

"Oh, sure, I just need to peel them," she said, taking a sip from her mug of coffee.

She kept one hand free for the spoon in the porridge bowl, giving Isaac a scoop here and there, and he'd smack his lips and mumble approval again. He clearly liked both being fed as well as the illusion of independence that came with putting his food into his mouth himself.

They were something like a symphony, the two of them; and as he tried to eat his own food, Arthur wondered if they were like this every morning. Eliza was by now a master conductor. And by no means did it go unnoticed or under-appreciated by his young son.

"Ma… Mama," Isaac said with his hands outstretched to her face.

Eliza looked up from her food at him. "Yes, baby." When he puckered up his lips and leaned forward, she came close and kissed him on the mouth, to which he smiled wide.

Isaac sat back in his seat for a moment, but quickly leaned forward with puckered lips and outstretched arms again for another kiss. When she didn't notice his gesture, he called for her again.

She leaned forward and kissed him with an exaggerated smacking sound as he took her face in his hands, and he let out a little giggle.

He didn't let her get far before he was reaching out for her with puckered lips again.

"Oh!" she gasped and planted a sloppy kiss on him with boisterous munching sounds, and he threw his head back and cackled. This time he didn't let her take her face out of his hands. "He realized recently that he likes kisses," she chuckled.

Arthur smirked. "You're gonna turn 'im into a pansy."

She rolled her eyes. _Well, he's got only a mother around…_ she thought and almost said it aloud, but bit her words back. "No, Arthur, this is just what little children do. Love is all they know. Well…that and a little mischief. Huh? You can get into a little mischief, can't you?" She let out a breathy chuckle when he puckered up yet again. "Aw, you like my kisses, don't you?"

Arthur felt himself smile at the show of affection between them. His eyes slid over to her as she finally sat back in her chair. "You know who else does…"

She turned and looked at him, a grin slowly appearing on her mouth.

In the matter of a moment, he rushed her and took her off her chair, pressing her up against the wall in the corner behind Isaac.

Isaac heard the foot of the chair scrape loudly against the floor and turned his face to look around, but when he didn't see anything, he contentedly went back to his pieces of egg that his mother had put on the table before him.

"Don't grab onto the shelf like that; you'll tear it off the wall," came a whispered chuckle from behind him.

Eliza switched to clutching his shirt in her hands as he kissed her breathlessly, hastily, and messily like he was prone to do when he got in a passion. She could feel him pulling up the fabric of her skirt and sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh, and she could already imagine the feeling of his hand when it reached its destination.

She broke her mouth away from his and gasped as she caught his hand, preventing it from going any further. "Arthur!" she looked into his eyes. "You won't make me forget about catchin' a chicken! You _won't!_" She laughed as he hung his head a little and cursed under his breath, confirming her suspicions.

He looked back up at her with a gleam in his eye. "We could still finish if you want."

"No! Isaac's sitting right there!" she whispered.

"Yeah, so…" he whined in a high tone as he kissed her neck. "You can keep quiet, can'tchya? What he can't see won't hurt him. We are his parents, after all. This is just what parents do," he said wryly, intentionally mirroring her words from moments ago.

"No," she breathed a laugh, hardly finishing the word as she gently pushed him. "I didn't feel right about it to start with. No. Come on, come finish breakfast," she said as she managed to come out from where she was tucked by him. She took a breath, swiped a wisp of hair from her face, and fanned herself as she went back to sit at the table, leaving him where he stood with a hand on the wall.

He groaned as he came and plopped back down beside her, realizing with dread that there was no getting out of this today.

.

When the three of them had gone to the big fenced area where the chicken coop resided, Eliza sat Isaac down on the grass outside the fence as the two of them went in. Arthur took no joy in the undignified chaos of scrambling and chasing after the chickens, who'd turned out to be better evaders than he'd realized an animal could be; though it seemed joy was exactly what Eliza was taking from it.

"I thought you said this was your least favorite thing," he grumbled.

"Chopping the head off is. 'Sides," she said looking down at Isaac, who was giggling and clapping. "We've got extra entertainment today with you here to help us."

At first he half-frowned, but he couldn't help but smile at the sound of Isaac's whooping screams and cackles.

They continued to chase in the sunlight as the chickens expertly dodged and averted them, causing them time and time again to bend and suddenly lunge in vain. Isaac would laugh, which caused Eliza to laugh, which extracted a few exasperated chuckles even from Arthur.

"Look at us," Eliza said, finally straightening after a while and catching her breath with a hand on her hip. "All we need is a banjo," she laughed.

Finally, Arthur stood straight, his back and arms slack from exhaustion and the futility of it all. "Oh, hell." Without even looking and in one smooth, syrupy motion, he pulled his six-shooter off his hip and gunned down one of the chickens at his side, the shot ringing loudly through the air, the smoke lazily rising in a cloud from his gun. Every other chicken leapt and screeched, scurrying away into the henhouse.

At the sudden boom of Arthur's shot, Isaac jumped and cringed. He opened his mouth wide in shock, a look of terror knitting his brows together as he looked up at his mother and waved his hands at his ears.

"Oh, _honey_," she said, reaching through the fence boards and picking him up. When she pulled him up into her arms, his face was taut with fear, his mouth pulled down in an exaggerated crescent moon. "He's never heard a gunshot before," she said quietly, looking down at him and stroking his head.

"Oh, no. No, no," Arthur said as he watched him suck in big, fragmented gasps of air, knowing he was just on the cusp of letting out a ripping wail. "Don't do it, little 'un. Don't break my heart." He quickly holstered his gun. "Hey… Here, here," he said holding his arms out and taking him. "Come here, son," he said bringing his forearm under his bottom and looking at him. "Yeah, you're all right."

With big, bulbous tears still gathered in his baby blues, Isaac gazed with a trancelike expression into his father's face. He hiccupped and reached out, clumsily putting his hands on his cheeks. When he blinked, the tears rolled down, but he was calm as could be. Arthur reached up and wiped the tears away with his thumb. "Good boy, you're okay," he whispered. Smiling, he kissed him on the cheek, and Isaac's face relaxed into a grin. Arthur dipped his head to the side and blew a spurting kiss into the crook of Isaac's neck, immediately spurring a bout of roiling, squeaking cackles from the little one—so rapturous was his bout of laughter that he threw himself back, and Arthur had to compensate and catch him so he didn't fall.

Arthur smiled wide, feeling his shoulders release of tension. He looked at Eliza, who had a loose smile hanging on her mouth and a bright, hazy gleam in her eyes. "See? That easy. He's all right. Ain't you, bud?" he said, looking back at him to see he was still smiling and hadn't taken his eyes off him. He watched as Isaac fumbled to get his hands back on each of his father's cheeks as he leaned forward with a pucker. Arthur looked back at Eliza with a furrow to his brow.

"You better kiss him," she said in a tone only feigned as serious. She watched as Isaac leaned forward fast, and Arthur kept looking back at her with a lost, incredulous expression. "You have to kiss him!" she pointed.

Finally, he quickly pecked him on the lips. "There—you happy?"

Eliza felt a grin spread on her own lips as she watched her son smile brightly. "That's exactly what he is. _Exactly_ what he is."

Arthur wheezed a laugh and shook his head. "Here, why don't you take him back on the other side of the fence. I got an idea."

She took him in her arms, ducked with him through the fence boards, and sat on the grass facing the chicken pen with him in her lap. They watched as Arthur ducked his head and arms into the chicken coop, coming out and carrying something to them in his hands. Remaining standing, he lowered his fist and opened his big hand to reveal a tiny, fluffy golden chick. He watched and smiled as both their expressions lit up like a star-lit sky.

"Look!" Eliza gasped. "What's he got, baby?" She reached out and scooped up the chirping chick, bringing it to her lap in front of Isaac. "Look at that," she breathed, taking his little hand in hers and stroking it across the chick's fluffy back. "Gentle," she whispered. "See? We have to be gentle." She watched Isaac gaze at the noisy chick; and when he smiled, she beamed up at Arthur.

He smiled at her and blinked softly before she looked back at their son. He watched them quietly coo to each other and the chick, and he felt himself relax and breathe easy in the moment. He grinned to himself as he opened his hand and looked down at the tiny chick he'd reserved for himself. He stroked it with his thumb for a few moments before looking back up.

That was when he saw them: instead of Isaac and Eliza, the rotting bodies of two old men he'd shot recently in a botched robbery strewn out on the ground in their place—empty expressions in their dead eyes, flies buzzing and spinning around their gory wounds and all.

Arthur woke with a horrible start and sat straight up in bed, panting and gasping. His dream reliving the events of the day had quickly devolved into a nightmare. As he huffed and tried to catch his breath in the dark, he glanced to his left and noticed the curve of Eliza's hip under the sheet beside him. She was already stirring.

"Arthur?" Eliza whispered groggily as she rose on her arm in her nightgown. Only when her eyes adjusted to the moonlight did she realize he was trembling ever so slightly, and her breathing stilled. She looked closer and noticed the beads of sweat gathering on his temple. He wasn't making a single sound, but he wouldn't look at her. When she reached out a hand to his arm, and he flinched and actually scooted away from her a bit, she began to be afraid for him. "Arthur, what…?" she whispered. "Talk to me." She felt so pathetic when her own voice broke just a little. She rested her forehead against his tense, hunched back, feeling the soft fabric of his nightshirt. "A nightmare…wasn't it?" She took a breath. "Sometimes I get them too. About my mama and papa, when they were dying. About…I guess about my fears for the future." She turned and pressed the side of her face against him. "You can tell me," she swallowed, shaking her head. "But know…just know I won't ever make you."

Arthur brought a hand to one half of his face. He hadn't realized fear could seize him so thoroughly as it had moments ago, when he'd realized all at once that she was lying right next to him—him, a person who could do that to others. _Oh, Eliza, you don't even know what you're asking_, he thought firmly. The truth was she was so young and innocent. He knew violence, brutality, and their result to be so foreign to her, and he wanted to do what he could to keep it that way. But it meant that she would never understand this part of him. If she ever did, she might just be abhorred at what she found.

Eliza watched him slowly turn to look back at her in the darkness. His expression was a mix of many things she couldn't quite decipher and name so late at night, but she knew she could recognize melancholy, uneasiness, loneliness, and perhaps even something like regret. She felt a breath leave her as she reached up and brushed his hair away from his eyes. She was glad when she saw his back and shoulders ease at her touch. _Think you can try to sleep?_ she'd wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out.

She brought her hand to his arm near his shoulder and gently pulled him back towards the pillow. When she succeeded, and he turned on his side facing away from her, she kissed his shoulder and slipped her arm under his to bring her hand gently to his chest. She closed her eyes with a pain still in her chest but a small, grateful smile on her face when she felt his hand rest over hers.

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* * *

**Dear Readers,**

**I'm taking another moment to truly thank each of you for reading faithfully, for your reviews and comments, and for sharing your thoughts and engaging with me. It means so much, and it makes this more fun than I'd hoped it would be.**

**I also need to let you know that I'm in the process of moving to a different state (from the "Wild West" to "the Heartlands," as I like to say!). Due to this, the next several weeks will inevitably be very busy, hectic, and a tad unpredictable for me. I'll also say that I really don't like feeling pressed for time and rushed to upload when I have a little bit of extra time. I take it pretty seriously; I like to have a rough draft (or a "skeleton"), write it out more thoroughly, then edit once and re-edit for a total of editing at least twice. I do it for these reasons: I enjoy it, I don't like the lesser quality when I don't do it that way, and I take the gift of your time seriously. With all that being said, I'm letting you know ****I can't guarantee how regularly I'll be able to upload chapters for the foreseeable future. I will upload new chapters when I can.**

**Please understand that this does NOT mean I will be abandoning this work. I have absolutely NO intention of abandoning this work. I will see it through to the end, believe me. I have already written a lot of it; it's just not as fleshed out as I need it to be before uploading. And I have ideas for more that needs to be written. I also have plans for a third (though shorter) finale piece to this series. As you can see, I'm very invested! No abandoning here. Please stick it out with me, and I don't think you'll regret it.**

**Thank you so much again!**

**Sincerely,**

**Rosie**


	22. 22

****This chapter features an edit on Ao3 by rdr2_0utlaw. :)**

**archive of our own works/22767514/chapters/59029171**

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A few weeks later Arthur was back, after his shortest absence to date.

As he sat at the table eating breakfast one morning with Isaac tucked securely in his own little chair, Eliza donned her gingham kerchief to keep her hair back and went to the barn to milk her cow. When she arrived at the cow's stall, her smile fell. She dropped her tin bucket with a rattle and ran back to the house.

"Mabel's sick. Somethin's awful wrong with her," she panted as she stood before Arthur at the kitchen table.

He'd just stuck a bite of food into his mouth and looked up at her with a twist to his brows. "Who's Mabel?"

"She's my cow. The milkin' cow you got me."

"Oh," he sat back. "All right. Show me."

As they walked out to the barn together, Eliza noticed how soft he looked. With no embellishments but a button down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, sturdy blue jeans, and his pomaded caramel hair shining in the afternoon sun—he almost looked like a natural rancher, another part of the natural elements.

When they got to the cow's stall in the barn, he knelt beside her. The big beast was whimpering and crying, writhing on her side on the ground. After a few minutes of him checking her over, he left the barn, and Eliza followed.

"What do you think's wrong?" she asked.

"It's fever, or some kinda sickness."

"What are you gonna do? How're you gonna fix her?"

"I'll be right back. You oughtta stay with her," he said over his shoulder.

She turned and went back into the barn but couldn't keep from pacing back and forth. Before long, she'd gone back outside to see Arthur approaching the barn. She saw the silver glint of a revolver in his hand.

"No," she breathed. "No, don't. Arthur, don't," she said, stepping in front of him.

"It's gotta be done."

"_Don't_."

"It has to be done, now."

"Arthur, stop it! You're not goin' in there with that," she huffed. "Your answer for everything is just to…to shoot everything! I'm sick of it! Not everything has to end that way!" Her eyes were glistening wet. "She's important to me. You can't. You stay away from her."

His eyes flitted down, and he slowly looked back up at her. He was quiet when he said, "Your age is showin'."

Her eyes filled with hurt, then flashed with disbelief and anger as she turned her face and looked at him from the corner of her eyes, her mouth hanging open. "Oh…you son of a bitch," she breathed deep.

"I'll get you another. It's just a cow."

"She's not! She's one of the only things I got when _you_ ain't here!" she said, gritting her teeth and pushing him in the chest with one hand, though he didn't move. "I know it might make me outta my mind for doing it, I know I've got a captive audience, and I know she's a dumb animal. But I talk to her, Arthur. I talk to her about…" she pulled her top lip in and bit it in embarrassment as a single tear ran down and she quickly wiped it away, "about Isaac, about my ma and pa… I talk to her about you," she said, looking down. "I know it makes me pathetic, I _know_ it does. You don't have to tell me. But she's mine. She's good and sweet, and she's mine." She looked back up at him. "Can't you find it in your heart to understand that?"

He nodded and shifted his weight as he let out a quiet breath. "You need to understand that her time's come."

"No. You understand that this is _my_ home. It's all I have. Every fruit tree, every blade of grass…even the damn chickens. It all means the world to me. Out there in your world you might rain fire down on everything you see, but this is my world. And you _won't_ bring hurt and killing where it doesn't need to be. Understand that. Not here. I won't let you." She brought a hand up and grabbed the collar of his shirt, jostling him with it as she sucked in a loud, sharp breath. "I won't let you!"

His expression was stoic, and he swallowed as he hung his head and turned his gun in his hand, looking down at it. "I'm sorry you feel that way. And I'm real sorry she's in a bad way. I'm even sorry this is the way of the world, that things die."

She glanced down at the hand she had on his collar as she pulled on it and gave a single sob with her shoulders. "Give me nothin' but animals for friends and take 'em away…" she mumbled with a shake of her head. Though she kept her eyes fixed on his collar, she felt him look up at her. "I know I…" She clenched her eyes tight for a moment and swallowed past the pain in her throat. "I know I'm just a stupid, silly little girl, and that's all I'll ever _be to you!_" she suddenly screamed, releasing her grip on his shirt to clench her fists. She sucked in another breath, then steadied it. "I know that."

His jaw flickered, and he jutted his chin to the side as he looked away.

"Someone to belittle and stick your cock into and leave," she said, struggling to breathe as she gave her head a little shake. "Some horrible mistake you're stuck payin' for," she sobbed, her chin quivering and her eyes filling quickly with tears as his eyes returned to hers. "I know that. That's all I've ever been. And somehow I still love you. But you do this, Arthur, and you'll…you'll break my heart. You'll break my heart," she cried. "I won't be able to look at you." She saw his Adam's apple bob in his throat. "I never ask you for a thing, Arthur! Not a thing!" At that, the tops of his brows lifted ever so slightly, and she could tell for a moment he was softening, considering not doing it. But his wavering didn't last when the sound of the cow's hollers arose once again from the barn; and he stepped forward, resuming his purpose. "Arthur!"

He stopped and turned to look back at her. "She's already good as dead, hun," he said calmly. His eyes drifted down with her face as she hung her head like a leaf in autumn. "It's just a matter of how much pain she'll be in and for how long. There ain't nothin' we can do for her but this. Now I know enough about you, Eliza, to know that you're right: I'm the opposite of you. You're good and kind. And I know," he said, his voice slowly and gently rising, "you're not tellin' me that you'd prefer Mabel to squirm and screech in pain for the next several hours until she dies in a pitiful state just so you can have her for that much longer." He took a silent breath and softened again. "That, I know. I guess I'm hopin' once you've calmed down some you'll see that."

She turned, looking after him as he entered the barn, and closed her eyes when he disappeared. When the gunshot rang out, her forearms flew up over her head; and she sobbed, letting her arms drop after several moments.

_Who am I gonna talk to now?_ she thought. _Don't you dare blame me when I become a raving lunatic._ Most days she was confident her mind was strong and healthy, and that she wasn't crazed in the slightest. But there were a few days here and there when she was nervous she would be somewhere down the road. Like when she felt so exhausted, she thought she might really go out of her mind. Or like when she felt all she really needed was someone to talk to, but the only person around was babbling baby who probably wouldn't be speaking in good, full words and phrases for at least another year, no matter how she tried to teach him by refusing to speak to him in jibberish. She had to continually remind herself that she was regularly conquering the abnormal; that nothing about what she was going through was being faced by the average person. And yet she couldn't be sure that the average, healthy person would cling so dearly to a dumb working animal the way she had for a source of companionship.

As Arthur stepped out of the barn and into the sunlight towards Eliza, he noticed she kept her eyes on the ground. After having heard her explanation and the way she'd poured her heart out, he wasn't without feeling. When he came closer, though, she turned her face away. He sighed and swallowed, but nodded. _Had to be done_, he wanted to say, but he couldn't force himself to as he walked past her towards the house.

They stayed away from each other throughout the rest of the day. As Eliza had said, she never looked at him, not even once through supper. He didn't even try to go to the bedroom with her to retire. He went straight to the sofa as she put Isaac to sleep in his room. It surprised him that he'd known exactly what she'd do—go to her bedroom and quietly close the door without addressing him goodnight, without even a hesitation. But it surprised him too that he wished she would.

But as he lied there in the dark and chill and lonely, empty quiet, it wasn't long before a sliver of light came from her cracked bedroom door, and she appeared before him in her nightgown. Everything inside him wanted to smile as he watched her slowly and silently come and kneel before him on her knees. She was such a tender heart; unlike anyone he knew, she never could go long being upset or leaving a ravine between them. It was like she enjoyed restoration.

With a forlorn look, she kept her eyes on the floor. "It's awful being alone when I know you're in the house," she said quietly, looking up at him. "I thought about it, and I realized what you did was much kinder than I knew at the time. I'm sorry for being so childish."

He sighed. "So you've got a heart, Eliza. It's nothin' to be sorry for. You just…" he shook his head. "You've got one of the sweetest, softest hearts of anybody I've ever known."

Her eyes drifted to the floor for a moment. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Naw, it ain't. It just…it's real hard for me to relate to. It's a wonder you've made it in the world as long as you have, if it's the same one I know." He took in her young face—beautiful even when downcast. They were both finding what a curse it was at times to be young, to not hold wisdom in your possession until after you needed it. "I'm real sorry I brought up your age. I shouldna done that. I know it's sensitive for ya."

Her expression pinched up, and she looked down and nodded. She lifted her eyes back up to him. "Please forgive me for the horrible things I said."

"It ain't your fault. It's mine if you feel that way."

She leaned forward slightly and shook her head. "I don't—"

"You wouldn'a said it if you didn't," he looked at her firmly. When he saw her look down again, he looked up at the ceiling and sighed as he wiped both hands over his face. "I swear to god, Eliza, sometimes…sometimes I just don't know what to do with you, I don't know what to do. This thing… What are we doin'? I don't know if…if I should just stay the hell away from you, if you'd be better off. Bein' with you…that way…it never was fair of me to begin with. And now," he tilted his head, "sure, sometimes it feels we oughtta have a right to it. We're adults, and…hell, we're parents for cryin' out loud. But other times, it…seems circumstances dictate it's the very last thing we oughtta be doin'. And I never know if bein' with you is…kind or unkind."

Eliza felt her throat tighten as she brought her arms around herself. "Neither do I," she choked out as a tear fell. "You have to understand… Some days, Arthur… Some days I'm so alone. Just so alone," she whispered as she held herself. "It ain't every day. Most days I really am grateful and joyful, to have Isaac and to live so simply in such a beautiful place. I've seen…firsthand…that I have more than most. Much more." She sniffed. "But sometimes, I…" her voice broke a little as she reached out a few fingers to his jawline, "sometimes it feels so long, that I get so scared that I dreamt you up. And then I look at Isaac, and I remember. I remember everything, and that it's all real." She took another little sniff as she looked down again. She nervously picked at her thumbnail and struggled to force herself to look up at him. "Bein' with you, Arthur, it's…it's more to me than I'm certain it is to you. It ain't just lust and satisfaction. And it's everything a lover feels when they're with the one they love and more. Bein' close to you, and havin' you near…it's like I just can't get close enough. But it's also like…" She looked up and kept searching for words to get him to understand. "It's…it's like goin' from the lowest place in the deepest valley to the tip top of the highest mountain." She quickly dropped her face down again. "I know you think I'm just bein' dramatic. I know…I know you think of it as takin' advantage of the situation and droppin' me even harder when you have to leave."

"Ain't it?"

She looked up at him and shook her head a little, her brows drawing up. "Ain't you hearin' me? No one can live in the valley forever. I need the mountain to get me through—"

He made a slightly sour expression and shook his head. "Naw, but seriously, Eliza; for me, ain't it takin' advantage, and doin' just the things you said—droppin' you harder? How's it not?" He kept his eyes on her face as she looked away, unable to answer. He hadn't been intimate with many women over the years, but never in his life had he had to argue so with a woman about whether or not they should sleep together. He'd certainly never been forced to take the opposing position. If it weren't so damn important, it'd be laughable. She'd argued with him about it from the very very beginning, and now here she was flipped. She was definitely not like any other waitress. "Why should I make things harder on you? Leavin', it's obviously gettin' to you. And any number of things could happen to me out there. We haven't really talked about that, have we? I mean, I hate to say it, 'cause I don't plan on ever lettin' it happen, but…what if I got locked up, or—"

"Prison?" She swallowed. "Sure, I've thought about it. And I don't think anything scares me more. 'Cause we'd never get you back before they walked you to the noose. And who could argue with 'em for takin' you from us? They'd be in the right to do it." She slid a hand up her temple and across her forehead as she struggled to keep her tears back. "I try not to think about it," she said, her voice choked and pinched. "It scares the ever-lovin' daylights outta me."

He half-frowned and squinted at her as he shook his head. "Maybe you oughtta get outta here, marry a nice feller. Ever think a' that? I bet you'd be scooped up real quick."

She dropped her forehead into her hands and sobbed. "Don't say things like that to me. Don't."

"Eliza…"

"Don't!"

"You don't wanna be thought of as a poor kid, do ya? I know you don't." He grimaced. "And you don't wanna get…mixed up."

She shook her head. "And I don't want you thinkin' of me as whinin' and cryin' all the time, either. Then you'd surely stay away."

"See—_god!_" he whispered. "You shouldn't have to worry about shit like that! Maybe if you were…hangin' round somebody else, you wouldn't." He listened to her take a forceful breath and shake her head.

"Don't say it again. Please. _Don't_. Just the thought repulses me."

He nodded and turned forward, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. "You're handlin' things just fine, Eliza. Well as can be expected. But I… Ah, how can I say it," he mumbled quietly, bringing a hand up and rubbing his fingers against his forehead. "I don't want you gettin' your hopes up higher than is good for ya. And I don't wanna be responsible for that neither."

Keeping her eyes down, she spoke quietly. "You met me in a godforsaken bar on your way out of town and accidentally knocked me up. How close can you ever really come to love?" she whispered, her chin trembling. "In my head I know that, but it… No matter how it hurts, it doesn't change anything for me. Even with the little I've seen of you, Arthur, it's enough to show me you're a good man. Even in spite of everything that's happened to you. Even with everything you face every day. It only makes it more incredible that you've kept such a good heart inside. Even though for the life of you, you won't let yourself see it." She turned to the side and shook her head gently as she trailed off, "I'll never understand it…" She faced him again, but her eyes quickly fell. "That's why I'm so sorry for the things I said earlier outta hurt. I don't ever wanna make you feel worse. You need no help in that. I see your demons, Arthur. Though you try to keep 'em from me." She met his eyes and held them. "But it's like you saw in that little scribble I wrote to myself: no matter how tough it gets, I'm not goin' anywhere. Maybe it'll be the first time you'll know what that feels like."

They sat in the silence for a little while, and he finally took a quiet, deep breath.

"To your own hurt, maybe. That's my point. I'm tryin'a think of you here. Listen, I can't force you. I'm just tryin'a get you to see that you don't wanna be stuck like this forever, in this situation. Stuck with me."

Her brows softly came together for a moment, and she stared at nothing as she tilted her head to the side. _Stuck_… she thought. She realized just then that it was a word that had come out of both their mouths that day. She looked back at his face. "Is that how you feel about me, Arthur?"

He was caught off guard for a moment. "Is what how I feel about you?"

She could tell he was trying to stall. She blinked softly as she looked at him. "Stuck. That you're stuck with me."

He dipped his chin to his chest. "No," he said low.

She felt a soft smile force a curl at the corner of her mouth. Keeping her face towards him, she looked away with her eyes. "Stuck with you…" she chuckled with a shake of her head. "Truth is I'm lucky it's you. With as damn naïve as I am, I'm real lucky you ain't a creep, a bad feller, that you don't have it in your heart to take advantage, even though you might feel that's the effect on me."

"No. No," he said firmly, chuckling with a shake of his head. "It's me who's the lucky one. That you're so damn patient and good. Thought's run through my head many times now." He smirked at the sound of her soft chuckle. He brought a hand up and rubbed his neck. "Believe me, Eliza. I take no pleasure in bein' the level-headed one outta the two of us for once." He watched her smile ever so slowly fall away as her mind was brought back to what they were discussing. "You know…day'll probably come when you've had enough, and you get fed up. You won't even wanna see my face no more, much less… And you'll regret sayin' all this to me."

Eliza shook her head. "I told you I'll never get tired of you. Any part of you—inside or out. Ain't possible." She swallowed and swiped her hands back over her hair as she looked into his eyes, quickly feeling the onset of tears again. "All I know is I love you, and I can't stop; I couldn't if I tried. I don't think that's how love works, anyways. Not real love. And you've obviously never been shown by anyone what real love is. Well, I'm going to show you," she whispered firmly. "It doesn't matter, because I can't have you. But, Arthur, I just…" she covered her mouth as her face crumpled and a couple tears fell, "I just have to believe that somethin' good is gonna come out of all this. I have to. That hope… I cling to it. Because I've got nothing else. I've got nothing else."

He watched her tears fall across her cheeks and reached up to gently wipe one away, keeping the back of his fingers on her cheek. He noticed the comparison of his tanned, scarred hand with her smooth, clean skin. "You shouldn't cry. You weren't made for it."

She sniffed again and wiped her other tear away. "I've done plenty of it in my life." She licked her lips and took another breath. "We don't have to figure out all the answers now. Maybe we never will." She leaned forward and brought her forearms across his chest as she looked up into his face. "I just can't bear to fight when I have you here, Arthur. Won't you come to bed? Come hold me."

She felt him bring a hand to her elbow and caught him looking down at her mouth. She imagined his thoughts were something similar to what was in her own head: how very sweet the taste would be to kiss and make love right then. But there was also a sense in the air between them that no matter how difficult it was to keep themselves from each other, they simply couldn't immediately after discussing it in such a way.

He swallowed and nodded. "All right."

As he rose from the sofa, she took his hand, and they walked to the bedroom together. They lied down face to face, and she drew close to his chest, tucking her head under his chin as they brought their arms around each other.

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"What do I got to do to my love to make you understand me?

Where do I find the piece of your heart to keep you satisfied?

What do I got to do to my love to make you even notice?

Where do I find the words in my mouth to cut through the air tonight?

.

'Cause every day I know that I am learning.

And age, it ain't the only thing in life.

But if memory's all you have then I can't find you

Beneath those eyes.

.

How do I face the man that I am when my heart's still in hiding?

Staring me down, the days of my life that I've gotta justify?

Maybe I need the cracks in my skin, emotions are hard to carry.

Maybe I need the strength in your eyes to cut through the morning time."

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\- Needtobreathe, "Angel at My Door"


	23. 23

The next time Arthur came by, his jaw dropped when he walked through the front door to see Isaac pulling himself up on a chair leg and reaching for his mother, who sat on the sofa. "My little man's tryin'a walk already?!"

Eliza nodded with a big grin. "Has been for a while now. Bat your eyes, and he will be."

"No… Don't say so! He can't; I won't allow it," he said as he removed his satchel and went to him.

"He's on his way, Arthur. I can see it. For a while there I thought he might actually skip crawlin' altogether and go straight to walkin'. He wants to awful bad. Been grabbin' onto things and pullin' himself up like a regular champ."

"Well. At least he can't when I ain't around to see it," he said removing his boots and standing behind Isaac. "Come here, Isaac, up we go," he said taking him by the wrists and pulling him up. "Show me what you got goin' so far." He put a finger in each of Isaac's little grips and walked with him when he took off towards his mother.

"That's my good boy!" Eliza said when Arthur let go and Isaac stumbled for a few steps in quick succession into her lap.

"All right. I ain't helpin' 'im the whole way this time. I don't think he needs it," Arthur said.

Eliza nodded.

"Come here, Isaac. Let's try that again." Arthur took him by the hands and walked him back to where he'd started. He stood him facing Eliza and let go of his hands. "All right now, boy. Walk to your mama."

Isaac stood still as a statue, his feet planted firmly on the floor.

"Go on, you can do it," Arthur said.

"You got it, Isaac, come on!" Eliza said with her arms out to him.

Isaac looked up at his mother and took a wobbly first step.

"That's it, baby!" she said.

He quickly brought the other foot forward and took one more uncertain step before immediately tumbling to the floor.

"Oh, you did so good!" she said scooping him up. "You almost had it." She looked up at Arthur.

"He's close."

"He'll have it before long. Just needs time and practice."

"And you won't have a baby on your hands no more."

"Oh…" she looked down at Isaac. "He'll always be my baby."

.

Later that evening, the three of them were in the bedroom readying Isaac for a bath before bed.

"Come on now, hurry up, let's go," Arthur said sternly as he held his naked son on his forearm. The two of them were watching Eliza as she went back and forth across the room for things. "You can't get his clothes off and make him wait. He's shiverin'!"

"I'm makin' sure the water's warm enough," she chuckled as she leaned over the tub and dipped her hand in, flicking her fingers as she drew them out. She immediately reached back and shed her own clothing. "Come on, baby, in we go," she said as Arthur handed him to her, and she stepped into the tub with him.

Arthur sat and leaned back in a chair a little ways from the tub.

Isaac sat perched on her thigh and immediately began slapping the water and splashing.

"Oh, don't don't you wanna come lie back against mama?" Eliza said. "You're gettin' much too independent for mama's taste, that's for sure." No sooner had she said it, than Isaac caught sight of her chest and leaned forward with his mouth open. "Oh, no! No, no!" Eliza chuckled, and she and Arthur both laughed. "I guess I spoke too soon," she said with a smile at Isaac. "There's no more, baby, no more. It's all dried up. Oh…I know. Mama's sad too. That was somethin' real special between you and me, a mama and her baby," she cooed, stroking under his chin. "You just keep gettin' so big," she whispered. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. Before we both get like wrinkly prunes."

She sat forward and reached, and Arthur turned and passed her the bar of soap. She washed Isaac, wet his hair, and got a suds going on his scalp all while he looked down and continued to be preoccupied playing with the water. She returned the soap bar to Arthur and repeatedly scooped handfuls of water, covering his face and slowly and carefully drenching him so the suds wouldn't reach his eyes.

"This is what I used to do when you were little itty bitty, except you'd kinda slump against me," she said, gesturing as if she had him against her shoulder. She looked up at Arthur. "I didn't do it while you were around. I was still sorta…shy around ya, I guess."

He smiled softly and nodded. He watched the two of them, mother and child in their natural state—completely at peace, familiar and comfortable with each other in a way only mother and child could be. It was something he knew not every person was lucky enough to witness. And somehow, it had been given to him—without question, without remorse.

Isaac. Still with his soft baby skin and dimples in his knuckles and elbows, rolls on his arms and thighs—all softer than anything he'd ever felt. His plump cheeks and lips; his tucked, pointed wisp of blonde hair in the little valley at the nape of his neck that his mother obsessively played with. His button nose with feather-light freckles danced across it, and lashes that were sure to spur swoons someday. His round doe eyes with a dew-drop gleam to them, and the way they could look straight into your soul with no apprehension or hesitation whatsoever, filled with nothing but adoration and wonder, innocence and limitless potential. Eyes that secretly held the truth of it all. He was like his mother in more ways than one.

Eliza. With a name that rolled like honey off the tongue and skin almost as soft as her son's—somehow both smooth as glass and velvety as a rose petal. The bow of her lips like pink satin against parcel paper. Her smile that could shame the rays of the sun as it peeked over the horizon, if for no other reason than she meant it. A soul that oozed attentiveness and forbearance. Warm in both heart and embrace. As he watched her, he realized concretely that there was no other woman in this role for his son or himself, no other Eliza.

Somehow they'd appeared in his life, like sprites of the legends of old. He began to feel the urge to get up and do something for the two of them, to give them something in return. He didn't want to miss out on them while he was here. But the longer he sat there, knowing just who he was, he also began to feel out of place in the room.

Finally, he decided to go outside and chop firewood, even with the light rain. As he stood at the stump bringing the hatchet down time and again, it started to rain much harder; but he continued. He thought back over the warm scene of the two of them in the house. They'd been given to him. _Him_—a man who, on every other day, used his hands to steal and rob, brawl and strangle, and above all—to shoot. After everything he'd lived through, he knew it to be all in the name of achieving justice, or some form of it.

Shooting… The way he did it, was it nothing more than standing afar off in a cold, impersonal way and sending a cold, impersonal scrap of metal through the flesh of someone else, maybe someone who'd once been held by his own mother that way?

He stood upright, squinted, and wiped the sweat from his brow under his hat with his wet fingers as the rain poured loudly around him. It was a thought he'd never ever had, a thought that he hoped never to have again when he next stood looking down the barrel of another man's gun.

As Eliza finished her and Isaac's bath, she looked up to find Arthur's seat empty. With Isaac in her arms, she stepped out and wrapped a big towel around the both of them, rubbing Isaac's back to dry him off. "Where's daddy, huh? Let's go find him." She took him and walked out through the sitting room, looking around. When she heard the chopping sound of a hatchet, she went to the window. "Ah, there he is." With the towel up over his head, Isaac rested a pudgy hand on the cold glass as they both gazed out. She kissed him on the cheek, but her eye was caught by how feverishly Arthur was working to finish the load of wood, even though the rain had gotten much harder.

A man in the house. A man. And not just any man—_him_. The cracks in the faded leather of his tawny jacket. The musky, smoky scent he brought with him. The stubble on his strong jaw and neck. The burgeoning crows' feet around his eyes and the sun tan between them. The hair on his forearms, the veins on the backs of his big, rugged hands. The bulk of his broad shoulders and back that spoke of power and might. The sounds of his boots' firm steps and the accompanying jingle of his spurs.

Completeness. Wholeness. Every time, everything about him was everything she found they'd so needed and wanted and had gone without for the past weeks and weeks. It was in the way he filled the house with a deep sense of calm and protection. The way he could often look at both of them when he thought she didn't notice. The way he'd sometimes do things to serve them without being asked. Like now, when he'd donned his jacket and hat to chop firewood—even in the hard, driving rain.

She kissed Isaac again and turned to ready him for bed.

When Arthur finally finished the pile, he went inside and hung his jacket.

"Started comin' down hard outta nowhere," he said without looking up as he hunched his shoulders and breathed into his hands and rubbed them together, thinking Eliza had finished putting Isaac to bed by now. He stepped to the kitchen and began pouring himself a mug of coffee when he felt a gentle tug on the underside of his rear and gave a little jump. He turned to see Eliza looking back into his eyes with a smile as she walked away towards the bedroom. She looked forward, and when she passed the threshold, she let the satin shawl she'd had around her slip away to reveal her bare back and the rest of her just before disappearing into the room.

He didn't realize he was still staring off in that direction until he felt the sting of hot coffee spilling onto his hand. "Shit," he mumbled quietly as he quickly looked forward and shook his hand, setting the percolator down.

"_You comin' to get warm, Arthur?_" he heard her softly call.

"Ye—" He cleared his throat a couple times. "Yes, ma'am. I'm comin'."

In no time at all he was undressed and smiling as he rushed to her where she stood beside the bed with the light of a candle behind her and a smile of her own. When he slipped his arms around her middle, she brought her arms atop his and gently rested her hands on either side of his neck under his jaw while he kissed her softly. He realized that these days whenever he got around her, every time, he shifted to a gentleness he didn't know he had in him. She was something entirely other—from what existed, from what took place every other day of his life; both she and Isaac were. He couldn't help it, it was second nature to be gentle with them; he didn't even have to think about it.

Eliza ran her hands under his jaw and down either side of his neck, tracing the dip of his throat through his stubble before sliding her hands over his chest. She felt him broaden his hands to the flat of her back, drawing her closer. _Don't_, she heard a quiet voice say in her heart. _Don't touch me if you don't mean it. Please. I can hardly take any more_. It was the first time she'd heard it in words. She immediately stomped it and stuffed it away.

She closed her eyes and felt him kiss her slowly and smoothly, surprised at how quickly he was deepening the kiss all the while. She felt her body react just to being wanted.

The two of them stood there, both pressing themselves closely and tightly together as they kissed. There was something they understood about each other that no one else in the world did: what it was to love their little boy. And every touch they gave each other, every little sound they let out, every soft breath—it was something they showed no one else.

She felt his fingers press gently into the vertical valley of her back while his other hand slid down her side and slipped to the top of her thigh where it met her bottom, and he lazily slipped his hand down further and stroked up and down the inside of her thigh. She hopped up and brought her legs around his waist, and he immediately caught her to him with his hands on the undersides of her thighs as she kissed him. She felt one of his hands leave her as he walked them to wall, pressing her gently up against it along with his hand. "The bed," she whispered as she broke away from his mouth, trying to catch her breath and pointing carelessly. "The bed, Arthur, the bed."

He took her to the bed and gently dropped her there with a bounce. He looked down at her as she lied with her head on the pillow. He brought his hand to her abdomen and slid his fingers around slowly in big, broad circles over and over again, watching her squirm and moan each time he passed over her lower abdomen.

"Enough," she finally whispered, looking up at him. "It's enough, Arthur. Come to me. Come here."

He watched the flush creep over her body—over her chest, up her neck, and into her cheeks. "Did anyone ever tell you you're a stunner?"

She stilled and looked up into his eyes, a grin growing on her mouth as she shook her head. "Why would they? I told you…" she said quietly, almost under her breath. She took one of his hands. "Don't you know by now? You're the only one who's ever seen me like this."

The corner of his mouth curled up slightly, and he licked his thumb and forefinger and reached out to douse the flame of the candle on the nightstand, leaving them in nothing but the pale moonlight that came through the window. He slowly climbed over top of her, placing his knees between hers, and kissed her.

With the rain pounding hard against the house and the thunder booming, he pressed her hands against the bedspread and made love to her, their fingers interlacing. Eliza felt her lower half slowly rock in tandem with him. She arched her back a moment and let her head hang back, immediately feeling his mouth on the base of her neck before gently collapsing against the bed. She listened to the sounds of their quiet kisses, sighs, and soft moans, comparing them to the continual angry, boisterous growls of thunder outside. It was more than enough to do her in.

Unlike herself, who often couldn't keep from letting out a moan or a cry when they made love, he was usually very quiet. But this time she heard him unleash a sound into her hair, louder than anything she'd heard from him before, though it still wasn't terribly loud: something almost like a disappointed groan that mingled in the air with her own gasps as he spent himself inside her. And at the end of it all was her favorite thing—when with her eyes closed, her hands would search for him while she hastily caught her breath, shaking and trembling as she came back down the mountain with him; and all the while he would plant a half dozen or so soft kisses on her cheek—almost sweeter and more intimate to her than the love-making itself, because he saw her in her most vulnerable state, when she was completely unable to withhold anything, and still he kissed her.

As he pulled away from her and lied on his side, propping himself up on his hand, they went quiet, with nothing but the sound of the rain filling the air. She looked in the opposite direction and ever so slowly let her eyes meander back to him. When their gaze met, and they realized they'd both just done the same thing, they let out a laugh, feeling somehow like schoolchildren for a moment. She was always amazed that they could still find small ways to be timid with each other every once in a while.

She smiled as she reached up a hand to brush his hair away from his eyes. "Your hair's longer every time I see you."

"Naw, I have it cut now and then." His eyes closed a moment as her fingertips flitted across his forehead. "You don't like it?"

She grinned and nodded.

He brought a hand up and sunk his fingers back into her golden hair, feeling the silky coolness between his fingers as he pulled his hand back, gently bringing her hair with it. "I like yours down like this." He smirked at her. "Yours seems to get longer every time I see you too." He felt his smile widen as he watched her chuckle; but as she looked down, her grin slowly fell away, and he felt his smile leave him with hers.

Just as he opened his mouth, a white flash of lightning sparked and flooded through the windows, the crash of thunder following nearly immediately, sounding closer and angrier than it had all night. They heard Isaac's high-pitched cry, and she threw on her nightgown and ran to his room.

"Isaac, honey," she cooed as she picked him up out of his crib and sat with him in her lap on the bed. "It's all right. Mama's here." She was holding him to her and stroking his head as he cried when Arthur came into view in only his trousers, still buttoning them as he leaned lazily against the threshold. "I know it's frightening. Shh. It's just thunder; it can't get you."

Arthur came and sat on the bed beside her. "Let me." He reached out and took hold of Isaac's little foot. "Hey, Isaac. You know how they tell you the lightning is the devil talkin' to the God, and the thunder is God answerin' back? Or that it's a giant livin' up there…like in that nursery rhyme or…?" He looked up at her. "What is it, help me out here…"

"'Jack and the Beanstalk.' It's a fairytale," she said with a smile.

"Sure. Anyway," he said looking back at Isaac, who was already slowly calming down as he watched his father with his forefinger in his mouth. "Don't let them lie to you. Don't listen to a word of it. It ain't nothin' but a big man with a big gun."

"Arthur…"

"But big don't mean nothin' unless you're quick. And your d—" he stopped himself abruptly and swallowed. He'd been about to say _daddy_, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't quite put a finger on why. "Your ol' pal Arthur is the quickest draw there is. He'll protect you. Don't you worry."

Eliza was certain Isaac couldn't have understood most of what he'd said; but even still, she watched in shock as his tears began to dry on his face, and a grin slowly appeared on his mouth as he blinked. "Uh, wha…how…" she breathed. "How did that…work?"

Isaac leaned forward and reached his arms out for his father, who brought him into his lap.

"Aw, that's a good boy. You're a good boy," he whispered as he stroked his back.

When they'd managed to get Isaac back to sleep and laid in his crib, Arthur noticed the rickety nature of the crib's rail and bars.

"How old is this thing?" he said, rattling it a little.

"I'm not sure. Must be pretty old," she whispered.

"I'll get you a new one."

They quietly closed the door and returned to the other room.

Eliza sat on the bed with one leg curled up and the other hanging off the side. "I can't believe what I just saw," she said to him as he came around to the other side of the bed. "You have a way with him, you know. Like only a daddy would," she smiled.

He rubbed his neck as he sat. "You know, I… I think I… I think I need to talk to you about that." He looked up at her. "I'm thinkin' we shouldn't have him call me 'daddy.'"

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't he call you…" Her smile slowly dissipated, and she swallowed. "You don't…" Her head began to sag. "You don't want him to know you're his daddy…"

As their eyes met, he quickly began to justify the notion. "Think about it. The older he gets, and the more he understands… Think about how much harder it'd be on him. When I gotta go, for him to say goodbye. And then to go so long without me. If…if he…knew." He watched her head begin to hang lower as she processed his words, what he was proposing, and all that it meant.

"But for him to go without a father completely… Arthur, you haven't thought this through. That would be even worse for him."

"Naw, it wouldn't have to be. I mean…he'd never really know what he's missin'. He'll never even know the word 'daddy,' unless you tell 'im."

"He'll never hear you call him 'son.' And you…" She scrunched her brows and shook her head. "You're really all right with never hearin' him call you 'Daddy'? Never hearin' him say 'Papa' to you?" She was having trouble with just how forlorn the thought was making her. "Arthur, you should know: when he calls me 'Mama,' it's the most beautiful sound in the world. Not everybody gets to know that feeling."

He looked down and slowly nodded, swallowing. "I'll still get to see him. That's what matters. Reckon that's enough to do me."

She wagged her head in disbelief. There was so much wrong with this in her eyes. "Well, who's he gonna think you are, comin' round like you do?"

"A friend," he chuckled. "His friend. That's what I am."

She looked at his hand where it was flattened against the bedding. She slowly looked up at him and prepared to use her final play. "You know," she said quietly, "this means when he gets old enough to be inquisitive, you and I'd have to sneak around."

"Yeah…so…" he said with a high pitch and a saucy smirk. "Might be kinda fun."

She let out a breath and slumped her shoulders. He had an answer for everything.

He came close and murmured to her, brushing his nose and lips against her cheek. "Hey, come on, hun…"

With her brows drawn up, she squirmed and whined a couple broken syllables. "I don't like it, Arthur. I don't like it at all, not one bit."

"Well, you gotta go along with it for it to work," he said dispassionately. "It's gotta be this way."

"I just can't understand why you're so intent on it." She looked down and shook her head again.

"You're the one who'll have him while I'm away. Think of how much harder a time of it he'd have. You know what it's like. You've told me enough times."

Something in his voice caused her to slowly look up at him. It hadn't been annoyance, but a hint of remorse.

"You gotta swear it," he said quietly.

She swallowed past the painful lump in her throat and tried to let the sound of the drumming rain soothe her. But it was no use. He was giving her no choice. Even so, she thought of the sunshine of her every day dreaming sweetly in the next room, and her heart shattered for him. It was in that moment that she realized she'd probably never come to the end of the layers of pain this life had in store for her. As she dipped her head, his came down with hers. "You really know how to break a girl's heart, Arthur Morgan."

When he felt her look up again, he was forced to look into her wet eyes.

"Kiss me once," she struggled to whisper, "just once, like you love me. Like you really love me. And I'll swear to you." She watched his eyes register her request. They looked away for a moment, then down. When he finally brought them back up, they looked a little different. As he drew close, she took in some air when his mouth missed hers entirely and he rose up to press his lips softly against her forehead, lingering there a few moments. When his face came back into view, it was a blur.

He watched her face pinch and a vein start to emerge in her forehead as she nodded.

"You have my word," she whispered, her voice breaking a little.

"Come on to bed now," he said, pulling her gently with him as he lied back. "Come on."

They both lied down facing each other, Eliza putting her flattened hands under the pillow as he reached out and stroked her arm. A few seconds later there was another streak of lightning close enough to send the white flash through the windows again, with almost no time between it and the following boom of thunder. They immediately heard Isaac wail, and Eliza rushed out to his room as Arthur turned onto his back.

Arthur heard Isaac's door open, then a quiet use of his own name, quiet enough that the distance muffled it. He immediately got up and came to see why she'd called for him. She looked up at him with what he could only decipher as a calm mixture of shock, disbelief, and excitement.

"He walked," she said quietly with a dazed smile on her face, pointing. "I saw him."

He looked into the room to see one of the crib's bars broken and in two pieces on the floor, and his gaze came down to find Isaac standing before them, whimpering with his arms raised to him.

Arthur looked up at her, and they both beamed at each other. He immediately scooped Isaac up into his arms and took him to their bedroom, his footsteps patting against the floor. Eliza quietly and giddily followed. They lied down in the bed, their son snuggled close between them. Isaac almost immediately ceased crying, falling asleep in a matter of minutes. His parents couldn't seem to close their eyes; they gazed at each other from their pillows above him with looks in their eyes and bright grins that said everything.

.

In the middle of the night after he'd finally fallen asleep, Arthur was awoken by something brushing his arm. He opened an eye to see Eliza dipping her long, slender fingers into a squat round jar, sliding them up the side, and leaning over to rub what looked like some kind of salve on his elbow. "What the hell…"

When she heard his mumble and realized he was awake, she gasped, closed the jar, and turned to quickly hide it away.

He propped himself up and eyed her. "Is that you? Is that you that's been doin' that?"

"Doin' what?" she whispered nervously. "I don't know what you're…"

"Puttin' shit on my elbows! They…they felt all…s-soft, and… I couldn't figure out what was happenin'! Jesus, it _was_ you! It was you the whole damn time!"

"Oh!" she tisked her tongue, letting her shoulders drop in admission. "Arthur, they were so dry—even cracking! And it just looked so painful, I couldn't help it! This is what I use when my hands get chapped from washin' at the washboard."

"You gotta stop," he eyed her, shaking his head low and trying to keep from smirking.

"Don't it feel better?"

"Don't matter," he almost chuckled. "You gotta stop. I can't go around robbin' trains and holdin' up banks with supple, perfumed…lady elbows!"

"Shhh!" she held up a hand, panicking for a moment when Isaac stirred just a bit, though he smacked his lips and finally resumed deep slumber. "You'll wake him!" she whispered. She looked up at him again, this time flatly. "It doesn't have any perfume to it. It's functional—not decorative."

"Well then _why_ do I always smell like flowers when I leave here?"

Her mouth tightened into a tiny, crescent-like knowing grin as her eyes pulsed wide for just a moment. _Because you've had me all over you._

"_Ha_," he laughed almost nervously as he rubbed his neck. "Any chance you could quit smellin' like flowers?"

A single, small breath of a chuckle came through her nose. "My turn to ask: You don't like it?"

He nodded his head loosely with a grin, but ended up shaking his head with that same grin as he watched her smile widen.

"I bet it does feel better. Lots better," she said.

"Sure it does. Never said it don't. But you ever hear of an outlaw who pays attention to makin' their elbows neat 'n' pretty? Anybody in camp notices, and I'm a laughin' stock."

She scoffed a little chuckle, closing her eyes as she lied back on the pillow. "You ain't gettin' no guarantees outta me. I swore one thing to you already tonight, and it nearly broke me. That's all you get."

He watched her intently to ensure she was still smiling and was satisfied when he saw the subtlest curl at the corner of her mouth. Deciding she was right and that it wasn't worth arguing over, even realizing that she'd done it out of compassion for him, he lied back down and fell asleep.

.

When he woke to the warmth of sunshine breaking through the crack in the curtains, Arthur sat up and looked over to see Eliza and Isaac still soundly asleep like lumps on logs. They were both on their backs; Eliza's head was haphazardly tilted just a bit to the side, her arm extended down at her right around Isaac, who couldn't possibly look any more comfortable. His cheek was scrunched up against his mother's arm, his puffy little lips bunched up unnaturally.

He was almost a smaller version of her; Arthur had thought so for a while now. He had his mother's golden hair with flecks of light chestnut sprinkled throughout, his mother's darling little chin, his mother's good heart. And he was so much the better off for it. The two were meant for each other.

He softly chuckled to himself as he watched them breathe and dream, thinking on what a honey-sweet picture it was. Picture… He was glad the thought had occurred to him in time, and he reached off the bed and dove into his satchel, pulling out his leather journal and pencil. Wanting to preserve them before they stirred and woke, he quickly began sketching them, looking up and back down at the paper with a smile.


	24. 24

**"Mood" music for the chapter, specifically the scene at the river:**

**"The Old Favourite" by The Gloaming**

** youtu .be/AEUJ_so2HH8**

**If you do listen, I hope you enjoy it. Including the links to songs is something I'll be doing for a few scenes in future.**

* * *

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On Arthur's next visit a little less than a month later, Eliza woke one morning to see him sitting at the vanity putting pomade in his hair. Still in her nightgown, she smiled and went to him, sliding her hands down over his chest and kissing his neck.

"Watch out," he said low with a smirk when she got in the way.

She snickered against his skin. "Payback for when you pestered me the other day while I was bakin'."

"Yeah, yeah. Wait—" he stopped short. "Would we call that pesterin'? I seem to recall we ended up havin' ourselves a fine time in the kitchen," he said as he returned his gaze to the mirror and continued combing his hair.

A laugh rumbled through her nose. She looked at him in the mirror. "You want some coffee?" she whispered and placed a last kiss on his cheek.

"Sure."

"'Course you do!" she said with a pat on his chest as she straightened. "You're Arthur 'Coffee-Guzzler' Morgan!" She ruffled his hair, and he swatted.

"Ah!" he grumbled low, rushing to fix his hair. "Eliza… Waist of good pomade."

She chuckled.

He started smoothing over his hair. He layered the bottom half of his face with shaving suds and opened up his razor. As he did, he lazily watched her through the mirror as she went to the wardrobe on the other side of the bed and removed her nightgown, pulling out a pale green frock. It was another of his favorites on her, since it matched her eyes. He watched the muscles in her back tense as she reached for it, and he eyed the long vertical dip down the center and the dimples adorning the small of her back. He watched her breasts disappear as she pulled the fabric up her arms, over her shoulders, and over her head. It wasn't just that he was aroused at the sight—he was something closer to grateful, that someone in his life felt this comfortable with him. When she left the room, he realized he had yet to even begin shaving.

After a few minutes' worth of shaving, he heard her voice from the sitting room and glanced through the door to see his naked son toddle and run across the floor with a cackle as she chased after him, her back hunched and her hands holding out a cloth diaper. "No, no, come back here! I set you down for one moment! I have to get your nappy on before you— Oh no…"

Arthur snorted a little laugh. "He's a streaker, huh?"

"I hear most babies are at this age. I guess I can't blame him." She went into a high pitch, and Isaac giggled, probably from her tickles. "If I had a precious little tummy and bottom like that, I might show them off too," she laughed.

"A little self-awareness never hurt," Arthur mumbled beneath his breath.

"Huh?"

"I didn't say a thing, darlin'."

"Anyways, I'd hate to wear this thing. But…" her voice returned to normal, and he heard her grunt and imagined her stooping to clean his piss up off the floor. "it's here for a reason. Isaac, come back here, honey."

A few more minutes of quiet, and Arthur went back to shaving.

"Arthur…" she said in a drawn-out, sing-song tone as she came into view through the bedroom door with Isaac on her hip.

He looked up to see a slippery, knowing grin on her face. "You've got a hankerin' for trout, ain't you?" he said.

Her grin grew as her chin dipped.

"You want me to catch you that trout, don't you?"

She kept her eyes on him as her smile brightened.

"All right, let me finish up here, and I'll go get you that fish."

"Thank you, Arthur," she said, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. "Mm…_soft_," she said as she pulled back.

He looked at her and swiped the suds from the side of her lip. "Get outta here!" he grinned, waving a hand.

She smiled and left the room, but after a few minutes she returned. "Hey, Arthur…what do you think about takin' Isaac? I bet he'd like that."

"Aw, it ain't like I don't want him with me. But as soon as he whines and cries, he'll spook the fish." He noticed her dejected nod. "I'll take him and teach him when he's older. Promise."

She left and returned again after several seconds, and he set his razor back down before it had ever touched his face.

"Well, forget the fish," she said. "Why don't we all go together? He's never been to see the river. We could make a morning of it."

He saw the latent hopeful smile she was holding back beneath her eyes as she looked at him. "All right, let me finish up here, and we'll all go to the creek together. That satisfy?" He offered a wink as she grinned and nodded.

.

When the three of them arrived at the creekside in the bright of day amidst the sound of rushing water and the lush green earth, Arthur watched Eliza bend to remove her boots. With their son on his forearm, he listened to her hum to herself as she took the hand he offered to help her step from stone to stone into the river. He watched the toes of her bare feet spread across the stones as she hopped seamlessly across them, holding her skirt high with the other hand.

Eliza pulled up the front of her skirts and tucked them into Arthur's belt that she wore tied around her waist, so only her pantaloons were visible from the front. "This is why I asked to borrow your belt. It won't hold up the whole of my skirts, but it helps. It should keep a lot of it from gettin' wet." When she turned back, he was already ridding Isaac of his clothing. She reached to help pull the fabric of his little tunic up while Arthur managed to get his nappy off, tossing it over his shoulder onto the grass. Isaac's head disappeared for a moment, hidden in the fabric of his shirt as she lifted it off his soft, pudgy arms. When it was all the way off, Isaac whipped around to take in the vast wilderness from where he was perched on his father's arm.

"Nekked as a jay bird," Arthur beamed as he passed their son to her.

"Naked as the day you born," she said with a bright chuckle as she took him into her arms. She turned and squatted with him, planting his little feet into the river.

"_Ooo_…" Isaac grimaced and puckered while his parents laughed. He immediately scrambled to scrunch his legs back up, forcing her to continue to hold him.

"I know, it's cold!" Eliza said. "But you'll get used to it."

He looked down at the water and held his thighs up tight to his belly like a frog, not budging when she lowered him again and again. "No, no. Nah! Mama!" he whimpered.

"Oh, come on. Just give it a try. I know you'll like it. My little water baby."

He finally dipped his feet back in one at a time until he was standing, though she still held him under the arms. His bottom bounced up and down in severe hesitation to let it all the way down into the water. "Oo-_ooo!_" he shouted, taking an inward hiss at the end when he finally relented, sitting with a plop. He shivered feverishly for a minute, and his father squirmed a bit.

"You might take 'im out. He ain't managin'. He hates it."

From where she was squatted in front of him, she watched Isaac involuntarily let out a stream of urine as the water rushed around him, his little shoulders giving one last shiver before relaxing. "He's all right," she smiled as he began to splash and play. "That's my good boy. I knew you'd like it here. See? Mama knows you."

Arthur noticed the way the skirt of her pale green frock ballooned pleasantly around her, the air sweeping under it as she stooped before their son in the stream. He watched as she began to pick pebbles out of the clear water to show him the different textures and colors, and he was clearly mesmerized.

"Pebble," she said.

"Pebba," he immediately tried to repeat. When she smiled, he beamed up at her and almost blushed, tucking his chin in to the side in modest pride.

"Moss," she pointed.

"Mossss."

"Water."

"Wawa." He pointed at her. "Mama!"

She smiled and nodded, touching his chest. "Isaac!"

He beamed again, and she scooped him up, hugging him tight to her chest back and forth. "Mmm… Mama loves you, Isaac." She sat him back down before her, and he grinned as he slapped the surface of the water.

She gasped and reached her hands into the shallow water near a smooth rock. "Look, Isaac! It's a salamander!" When she pulled out a long, shiny black being and held it out to him, he leaned forward to look at it closely, ever the curious one. He jerked his head back a little and smirked a half-frown when its arm moved in her hand. It wasn't like the pebbles.

"It's not poisonous, is it?" Arthur asked.

"No, it doesn't have any colors on it. It's harmless. Go on! Give it a hug," she grinned, holding it out again.

She smiled as he reached out the tip of his finger to touch it, and when he realized it was slimy, he immediately popped his head up at her with a scrunched nose while pulling his hand away.

She threw her head back and released a throaty cackle. She looked over at Arthur. "He's afraid of the salamander."

Isaac went back to splashing, apparently his favorite thing, as his mother returned the salamander and joined him in the festivities, the two of them making a messy uproar.

Arthur stood a short way off on dry land with his hands on his gun belt, watching for water snakes. Just when his mind had drifted to consider that this was where he was meant to be—protecting them and looking out for them rather than a part of them—he heard Eliza's voice beckoning him into the stream.

"Come on in with us!"

He glanced at her with a twist to his brows before looking away. Bless her, it didn't deter her.

"Get in here, Arthur! Get your boots off!" she said. As she stood, the balloon of air under her skirts disappeared, and the wet fabric clung tightly to her legs. She flicked her wrist, sending a wave of water his direction.

"I think I'm all right where I am," he said, ducking to the side to deftly dodge the splash.

"Get in here before I fill your boots with water."

He sighed and looked at her flatly. "Please don't."

"Come _on!_" she stomped, sending another wave dangerously close to his boots and causing him to swiftly lift a leg to avert it.

"All right, all right! Just calm down, give me a second, all right?" He craned his foot up and removed one boot, then hopped on his other foot as he removed the opposite one, tossing them back on the grass with his black hat. He mumbled an _aagh_ under his breath as he reluctantly removed his gun belt and holsters, setting them down on the grass by his boots. He rolled his pant legs and sleeves up as far as they would go, eyeing her with a wry smirk. "You might come to regret that, little lady."

"What does that mean? You won't drench me."

"_What?_ You're splashin' at me! Why can't I splash back?"

"Because it's like you said," she grinned sweetly, lifting her chin and failing miserably to stifle a laugh, "I'm a lady."

Without taking his eyes off hers, his grin slowly widened as he stepped into the creek. "You know, you're exactly right," he nodded and tipped a finger as if from his hat. "You are a lady." In an instant his grin transformed into a devilish smirk. "But that don't mean I can't do this." He swiftly reached down and flipped a big splash her way. He watched her squeal, shut her eyes, and hold up her hands.

"For once I'm gonna get you back," she grinned, sputtering as she reached down for the water and sent a splatter right up into his face.

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that," he spat.

Back and forth they went, Isaac giggling and clapping from his seat a safe distance from the entertainment as the two of them proceeded to soak each other in stages.

"Enough a' this," Arthur finally mumbled, preparing himself in a stance to tackle her.

"Oh, no," she shook her head. "You wouldn't dare." As she watched him come at her, a little scream left her throat. "Arthur!"

He grabbed her by the waist and took her down with him into the stream.

She sputtered and fumbled as she tried to crawl away from him, reaching up a hand amidst the tinkling spray of water in every direction and the rising hum of Arthur's gravelly laugh. "Isaac! Help me!" she smiled at him, keeping her chin above the water. She couldn't help but join Arthur in laughter. She looked back to see him in the middle of grabbing a fistful of her gown's fabric. "No, no fair," came a lilting nervous laugh from her lungs. She turned, scrambling and clawing before a relentless tug pulled her backwards. She turned back and immediately brought her hand to the back of his head, pushing his face under the rushing water for just a moment.

"_Shhi_…" she heard him mumble when he came back up, snorting and clearing his nose. She didn't need to hear the end of the word.

She stumbled a couple times as she struggled to get back up to her feet, though glancing back once more was her downfall. A laugh rumbled up through her chest at his expression, and it gave him the moment he needed to finally capture her.

"Get back here, you," he jeered as he slung an arm around her waist.

As she turned on her side in the water, his smiling mouth met hers for a sloppy kiss while a mumbled chuckle arose from her. He drew back and held her gaze for a moment before standing and extending a hand to help her up. They were both soaked to the bone, their clothing clinging to them. She reached up and realized her hair was an awful, tattered mix of wet and dry—mostly wet—and she began to run her fingers through it to comb it.

"'Magine we could lie on the grass in the sun for a bit to dry off," he said as he trudged through the water towards the shore.

"Sounds perfect," she said, stooping to scoop their son up out of the creek. "What do you think, Isaac? Your clothes are still nice and dry on the river banks. Lookee there," she pointed. "Lucky duck." She kissed him on the temple as Arthur retrieved his clothes, and they dressed him.

They walked over to a dense patch of soft green grass and lied down on their backs side by side, with Isaac sitting on her lap leaning back against her propped thighs.

Arthur took his son's soft little ear lobe between his thumb and index finger. "He looks like you."

"He doesn't. He looks like you!"

Isaac's eyes followed their faces back and forth with their voices.

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?" he asked.

"Arthur, he's your spittin' image!"

"No, no. Look at his nose. He's got your nose. Thankfully."

"He's certainly got your eyes."

"Maybe in color. But the shape is you. And his chin. That's yours too, darlin'."

"Well, his lips and mouth are all you."

"What about his hair?"

She paused. "Well, I guess that's mine." She reached up and ruffled his light goldenrod hair with a smile.

Arthur smiled and stroked the back of his finger across Isaac's cheek and under his chin. "Sometimes I think… I don't know what I think," he mumbled. He did know his own dark and heavy thoughts, knew them well; but he didn't want to damper the moment's light mood by airing them aloud. He was wondering how she could possibly be so happy, since he'd left his bastard inside her, then had forced her to carry every burden, to go through every tough moment alone—right down to worrisome thoughts of the future. She should've had him there, to talk with, to help.

If he had known about it and if she had been…_Mary_…he would've begged and pleaded with her to come live with him in the gang. If she'd been a fellow gang member, he would've secretly ducked into her tent in the middle of the night to hold her until very early morning, when he'd sneak back out so no one would know until she started to show.

But she wasn't anybody else. She was Eliza. Good and sweet and young. An innocent civilian. He guessed that it was almost his way of honoring her, not involving her in his life any further than she needed to be. And Isaac could never come in contact with any part of his way of life. Never ever. So this was just the way things had to be. And poor Eliza. She was caught in a horrible stalemate: she wouldn't leave, and she couldn't come. Required to go on raising their bastard son alone.

And Isaac. The most beautiful, precious thing that had ever appeared on the face of the earth. He was thinking Isaac didn't deserve to be thought of as a bastard, deserved to have parents who loved each other and always had, deserved to know he was the result of that love. He almost bitterly scoffed aloud at himself, wondering just how many people in the world really had that. He was thinking that he desperately wished Isaac wasn't a bastard. And his eyes floated back up to Eliza.

How could she possibly be so happy? Then again, he knew her to have her fair share of pain and struggle. Maybe it was work to be happy, and she'd gotten so good at it, that she could make it seem as though it came easy. He took notice of the twinkle in her green eyes—something like pale emeralds, if there were such things, he didn't know—and he knew that was wrong. He knew her smiles and laughter just came out of her, like natural. She had no pretenses. And anyway, any need for them had disappeared from her life. She lived her every moment with no one but a baby. He'd bet that she had no habits of façade, and that however she was every other day was the way she'd continue to be when he came round.

No, he wouldn't waste the mood by thinking out loud. For the moment the three of them were close together in the mild wilderness, Arthur and Eliza lying on their backs, and the sweet, luscious scent of the soft green grass filling their nostrils as they looked up at a perfectly bright blue sky bordered by the swaying branches and leaves of nearby trees.

"What do you think, Arthur?" Taking Isaac off her lap for just a moment and sitting him between them, she propped herself up on her elbow and put her cheek in her hand as she looked down at Arthur. She reached over and slipped her fingers back through his hair.

He looked at her. "I think…" His eyes traveled down over her as he tried to come up with something to say. "I think you should just wear my breeches when you need to get dirty. Be easier for ya. You're already borrowin' a belt." His mind filled with the image of her brushing the horse he'd gotten her in a pair of his brown trousers, his belt tied in a knot around her waist to cinch them up. He could make out her plump tush beneath her waves of long blonde hair as she turned to him with a smile. Mm. It was an image he wanted in reality before him, sooner rather than later. "I'll leave a couple pairs for ya."

"Okay. Thank you, that would make some of my work around the place a lot easier, actually." She returned to her back and brought Isaac back to sit against her propped thighs. She began to hum again, joining the trills of the birds. "Do you hear that, baby?" she whispered warmly. "It's the Whippoorwills…"

Arthur watched her fingers dance above them on the breeze as she hummed a slow, cheery melody. Isaac was entranced, and he had four of his fingers in his slobbery little mouth as he watched and listened to her. Arthur couldn't blame his son; her voice was even better than the birdsong. As she opened her mouth to sing, Arthur found that he himself was swept up by her smooth voice and drawn away by the lyrics:

.

"Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?

Have you seen my little love?

She sings her song for only me.

She sings her song in sky above.

.

Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?

Her tune lends my soul a rest.

With her melody a sweet peace

Swells plentiful in my chest.

.

Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?

She knows no selfish thought.

She sings for me until she's spent

And her lungs are overwrought.

.

Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?

She's never missed a meeting,

Our chance to knit our hearts in love,

Despite how brief and fleeting.

.

Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?

I'll admit by gold was I ensnared

And for my precious little love

Showed how precious little I cared.

.

Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?

Oh, for her sweet tune I long.

What a short while to be with her,

Oh, what a long time to be gone.

.

Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?

I'll lie and make my bed of grass.

I'll lie all night, morn, and day

In wait for the clouds to pass.

.

Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?

Say she's no prey to the hawk as it flies.

Say my love's heart still beats pure.

Dare not, tell me no devil's horrid lies."

.

Arthur turned his head and looked at her. "That's awful! Don't sing that!"

"Why? W—"

"Don't sing that! It's horrible!"

"It's one of my favorites. Don't you like the tune?"

"Sure. Actually, I like it a lot. But…the words are just awful!" he said with a sour face.

She looked at him aghast from the corner of her eyes, a little grin appearing on her mouth. "Well, I'm a little surprised at you, Arthur."

"Why?!" he said the breathily, his brows scrunched up in protest. "For not wantin' my son to hear a full-on, goddamn tragedy?!"

"No…" she shrugged meekly. "Just that you reacted so strongly yourself."

His eyes shot wide with incredulity and indignation. "Here I was, waitin' on baited breath to hear what happened, and then…_that?!_ Anyone would hate that damn song!"

"You're a real romantic at heart. I think I knew it all along."

He grumbled, swatting a hand briefly in the air and making a show of rolling his eyes as he looked away. When he looked back at her, her eyes were closed as she took in the warmth of the sun. He looked back up at the sky.

After a few minutes of quiet, Eliza opened her eyes and looked at Isaac. Without turning, she asked, "Do you remember your mama, Arthur?"

He took a few seconds to answer quietly, "A little."

"What was she like?"

"She was…kind. Only person ever showed me any kindness until Dutch. Probably the only reason I know what kindness is." He sighed. "She was good and kind."

"Mamas are good like that, aren't they?"

He heard the smile in her voice and looked over at her. "Yeah… Mamas are good like that." He watched her bring her hand back around Isaac's head and come forward over his little chest.

"Mamas are good because…all anyone ever wants is to be precious to someone. And even when the whole world…tells you…you ain't, and leaves you empty and alone…at least you know you once were to someone. And that someone was your mama."

He looked back up at her face and caught sight of her swallow. She didn't look at him as she sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her finger before finally managing to flash up a brief smile his way. He wanted to hold her. Tell her all the things she wanted to hear. Wanted to be that someone to somebody. To her. But he didn't want to go over all the reasons in his mind again that he couldn't. He had to keep space between them in moments like this.

At least he could try to cheer her up, take her mind off it. "Mine had this flower she liked, her favorite. I keep one bottled up with me."

"You really are a romantic," she croaked with a smile, nudging him in the arm. "Severely so."

He huffed a chuckle and wagged his head. "What was yours again?"

"Lily of the valley. It's white, got these little hangin' buds on it. Like a flurry of tiny little pearls. Except the petals are curled on the ends."

"That's right," he smiled. "I've seen 'em. Woulda thought your favorite would be somethin' brighter, happier."

"They are happy," she smiled over at him. "Just a…quiet happy. God made other flowers to be bright. He made the lily of the valley to bring peace."

He nodded with a soft grin. "What's your favorite critter? Animal, I mean."

"Pff… All of 'em."

"Nah, nah. Gotta pick one."

She smirked. "Whippoorwills."

He dramatically rolled his eyes once again, but with a grin beneath them all the while.

"Hmm… Favorite food," she said.

"Huh," he chuffed. "I don't know. Coffee count?"

She smiled brightly, almost laughing. "Sure."

"What about you?" He was surprised when she blushed.

"No, you'll laugh at me."

He dropped his head to the side. "Oh, now you have to tell me."

"Fine." She pressed her lips tight together in reluctance. "Pickles. Anything pickled, really."

His eyebrows darted up, and he started to snicker. "Ha…you're kiddin'."

She shook her head. "Daddy always said it was on account of me being too sweet, and I needed a dose of vinegar to balance me out," she grinned.

He eyed her, trying not to chuckle. "Yeah, I'd say that's about right."

"What—a daddy lyin' to make you feel good?"

"No, what he said!" He finally let out a full laugh.

She swatted his arm. "I told you you'd laugh at me! You're laughing!"

"Pickles? Really, come on."

"What can I say?" she sighed. "All right…favorite fruit?"

He squinted. "Peaches."

"Mm… I used to eat 'em sliced in a warm bowl of milk. I should make you some preserves. Or a cobbler. I found a tree out back."

"You?"

"Pears."

"And him?"

"Oh, boysenberries," she smiled at Isaac. "Definitely boysenberries." She stroked his chin and stuck a finger in his neck, causing him to recoil and cackle. "Huh, baby boy? And you make a mess all over your face every time." She glanced at Arthur. "He's got a bit of a sweet tooth."

He smiled as he watched the two of them. "Me too." He rose up on his elbow and pressed a kiss to her lips.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the sudden spark of sweetness. "Mm…" She opened her eyes and looked at him. "What was that for?"

"For giving us him," he said with a tilt of his head at Isaac.

"Is that what all your kisses are for?"

"A lot of them."

She smiled. When he returned for another kiss, she pressed a hand to his chest. "Arthur! He's right there," she mumbled through gritted teeth.

He turned and looked back at him. "You don't mind, do ya, bud?" he said with a grin. _Nah, you won't remember this._ He turned back to her. "He says he don't mind." He kissed her smiling mouth again, this time slowly deepening the kiss. But he pulled back with his brows furrowed tight when his tongue met her closed teeth. "What— What the hell is this?"

"What is what?" she said, trying not to grin.

"You got lockjaw or somethin'? You got a cut in your mouth? What's goin' on here?"

"No, no! 'Course not! I'm fine! Look!" she said, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue.

"Well, why're you doin' that to me?" he chuckled breathily.

"No reason," she smirked.

"Ah, I see," he said low, leaning back a little. "It's your turn to play a joke on me; is that it?"

"Maybe," she said sweetly, her smile finally allowed to blossom.

"Uh-huh…" he said leaning back on his elbow and looking away, trying to appear nonchalant.

"You wanna try again?"

He looked at her with a grin and came close, pressing his lips against hers. "I can feel when your jaw's closed," he said in a low tone between kisses, tugging gently on her chin with his thumb as mumbled chuckle rattled through her. "Open up…" Again his tongue met a firm wall in her closed teeth. He immediately pulled back. "That's it," he said lying down beside her. "I ain't doin' it again. That's it."

"Noo!" she said with a soft laugh as she propped herself up on her elbow. "Ohh, no! Come on!"

"Naw! That's it!"

"Arthur. Come on. Come try one more time," she said with a bright smile. "It'll be different. I promise."

He looked at her and couldn't help but let his grin grow when he saw the gleam in her eyes. It was probably true that he could trust her better than she could trust an outlaw. He rose back up on his elbow and came over her again as she reclined underneath him. He came awfully close but kept his lips from touching hers. He met her eyes and held them. _It better be_. He heard her laugh and felt her breath against his lips, and he closed the gap. He wasted no time this go, and he met no resistance. He felt her hand come gently to the back of his neck.

"Better?" she said when she managed to pull away for just a moment.

"Much better." He enjoyed her breathy laugh when their smiles met again. "Mmm…" he mumbled against her. "I swear, the…bees oughtta…be swarmin' around your mouth…if they knew what was good for 'em." She was in the middle of laughing even louder when he stopped her mouth with his, but her chest and shoulders still jostled with the effects.

They heard Isaac begin to babble to himself behind him, and soon he was calling for her as he rested his little hands on his father's back. "Mama, mama, mamamamamamamam ama ama mam mam mam…"

"Shh-shh," Arthur waved a hand. "Mama's busy. God, one minute, just gimme one damn minute, just one! You can have her all the others, just gimme this one." He finally plucked a dandelion from nearby and handed it to him with a small sigh. "Here." Isaac took it and studied it between his stubby little fingers. He looked back at her and wheezed. "That oughtta give us one turn a' the long hand around the clock face."

"If that," she smiled.

"Well, Jesus, let's don't waste it then!" He kissed her deep and hasty, and she took a deep breath, bringing her hand to his back.

Arthur slid a hand down to her waist until it rested atop her hip bone. He heard a soft little moan rise out of her throat and smiled against her lips. "Hmmm…you like doin' this outdoors. I'll have to remember that." He brought his hand back up gently to her neck and trailed it down the inside of her bodice. "Wish I could have you outta these clothes right here and now." He unbuttoned the top button and pressed his hand past the cloth to the right side of her chest.

"Arthur…"

At that moment they heard a rustling that prompted them both to sit up, and Arthur turned in the direction of the noise.

It was a lone, dark wolf several yards off—growling and creeping up slowly through the long heather, readying for the killing pounce.

All in the matter of moments, Arthur glanced down at his hip and realized with sinking dread that he was not in possession of his gun. Not even a knife to speak of. He heard Eliza's breathing pick up behind him as the wolf continued to press closer. His eyes darted to where his holsters lied in the yonder grass where he'd left them before stepping into the creek—a couple feet from his reach.

The briefest moment's consideration about whether he could reach it in time. "Oh, goddamn it." He leapt up and dove for one of his guns as the wolf simultaneously sprang into action. He got his hand around it and his finger on the trigger just in time to put a shot through the wolf's head, sending it sprawling on the ground. He immediately rose to his feet and popped a few more rounds into its dead body.

Gasping, he looked over to see Eliza's colorless, rattled expression and wide eyes, one hand holding Isaac's face tight to her neck, the other nervously and absentmindedly clutching her bodice closed.

He looked down as he caught his breath, sweat trickling down his neck and back. He hadn't thought of himself. Only of them.

Eliza watched as he hung his head in fatigue, the hand holding the gun limp at his side. He'd jumped up and got a shot off quicker than almost anything she'd seen in her life; she thought he might've been just as quick as lightning. He'd beat a wolf, after all. And what was even more impressed upon her mind was the fiery flash of fury across his face, pure and terrible, unlike anything she'd ever seen on him before. She'd caught a glimpse of what he must've been like when he was away: quick and fierce, deadly and cold—like lightning. And still, it wasn't fear she felt. Because he'd never shown it to her. No, it was something else entirely: something like amazement, astonishment.

But the lightning had dissipated. At the moment his eyes were wide, his breathing ragged and shallow.

"Never. Never again," he said.

"Never what?" As she watched him, she started to understand what he'd meant. "You have to be able to live your life, Arthur."

As he stood with his left side to her, he sighed and sagged his head back for just a moment before looking forward again. "You have to understand, Eliza." Still holding his gun pointed away, he gently pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket. "It's the worst feeling in the world, at least for me…bein' caught unawares without a weapon. And I know better."

Eliza was arrested by the still earnestness in his eyes as they connected with hers.

He took a silent breath, keeping their eyes locked. "Good things have to be protected…every moment. It's just the nature of the world we live in."

.

Later that afternoon when they were back at the ranch and Eliza was standing near the barn, Arthur walked up to her with a rifle slung over his shoulder. When he stood before her and looked down, she followed his gaze to see a revolver in his hand.

"Time for lessons," he said.

Her head popped up at him. "Oh no. You can't mean…"

"I mean exactly what I said." He watched her begin to shake her head. "Ah, nah, come on, don't give me this. It's time! It's way past time! Shoulda done this from the beginning."

"No. I won't," she shook her head, taking a step back.

"What? You ain't one a' them… What are they called? Shakers…?"

"Quakers. No, I'm not. But I…I won't."

He groaned and rolled his head to the side.

"I won't even touch it, Arthur. Please. Don't make me."

"Oh, _god_, Eliza—"

"I-I had a nightmare about it!" She swallowed, watching him pause and eye her. "You weren't there."

He didn't know if she meant he wasn't lying next to her in bed when she'd had the dream, or if he wasn't present in her dream. He was too afraid to ask which.

"Listen to me, now. This is one of the reasons I've got to go, and stay away as long as I do: every day I'm here is just more risk for the two of you. Risk someone'll find me here and hurt you in the process." He shook his head. "I couldn't live with myself, Eliza." He looked down, then back up into her eyes. "You remember what I told you by the banks of the river?"

She swallowed and nodded. "Good things have to be protected, every moment." How could she forget? He'd called her a _good thing_. It was the best she'd ever gotten out of him, and the closest to love. Her poor, pathetic heart had clung to it for dear life.

He nodded. "That's right. I won't let you live and die for me, Eliza. I won't. Not for me. I ain't worth it."

She watched him look down as he turned the gun in his hand. She hadn't noticed until then how beautifully ornate it was: silver with gold filigree.

"I've got both you and Isaac to think about. You'd need to be able to take up a gun and defend yourself. Wolf taught us that today. I know you got fears, and there ain't nothin' I can do about that. Except teach you, show you. And maybe that'll take some of 'em away. I promise, I won't leave a gun. Not this time. But at least let me show you how to operate one."

She was about to comply when his eyes returned to hers.

"Please," he pleaded. "If you won't do it for me, do it for Isaac."

She quietly and briefly nodded.

He held up the revolver and quickly popped out the cylinder, loading it with bullets. She listened to its rolling clacks as he swiftly spun the cylinder and returned it back to its place. All in one smooth motion, all within what seemed half a second. Her eyes went wide. She hadn't thought she could be any more attracted to him.

He noticed her expression and paused. "What, suddenly you're intimidated?"

"No, it's…not quite that," she winced and swallowed.

He looked back at the gun and held it up. "See how I did that? That'll be you. You're gonna know your way around a couple different kinds of guns by the time we're done. Revolver like this, and a rifle." He met her eye. "You're gonna show me, like I don't know."

She nodded.

He looked down at his gun in his hand, pointed down and away as it was. "Now. There are a few rules—"

"Rules? You put rules on yourself?"

He looked back up at her. "Sure," he almost laughed. "Every good gun owner better follow basic rules. Ain't no point havin' a gun and bein' stupid about it." He glanced back down and opened his hand so it rested atop his big palm. "Number one: treat every gun like it's loaded. Now, you just saw me load this one, but you get the idea. Better safe than sorry. Two: always keep your finger off the trigger—that's this here—"

"I know what a trigger is," she chuckled.

He grinned. "All right. Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire. Remember, you control it; it don't control you. You don't want it goin' off before you say so. Three: never point it at anything you ain't ready and willing to kill. Got that? You don't point, and then hesitate. And you also don't ever mindlessly swing it around. _Ever_. I hate it when people do that. So stupid. And with a rifle," he gestured to the one swung over his shoulder, "you don't lean on it like an umbrella or a cane either. You aim only at what you already know you're willin' to destroy. In your case, it's self-defense. Or huntin'."

She nodded gravely.

"Lastly: I want you to always be sure of your target, and what's behind it, before you fire. Let's say…a closed door. You wouldn't wanna do that. Could be anything or anyone you didn't intend to harm behind it. Bullets don't often stop at the first thing they hit. Dependin' on what it is, they go through it. Make sense?"

She nodded again.

"I know you don't like this," he grimaced.

"No, no, it's okay," she whispered.

He took her through the parts of the revolver and showed her how they worked together. "Today we're gonna aim at that paper I've nailed to the tree over there." He finally held the gun out to her, and she hesitated a moment.

As she reached up for it and touched her fingers to it, she panicked. "Where's the baby?"

"He's inside! Nappin' in his crib. Come on." He held out his other hand and gestured by gently flicking his fingers back.

She slowly took it, and he had her show him the parts as if he were the student.

"Now start over as if you just picked it up. I want you to check the chamber. Good."

As she held it up, he told her how to position it in her hand. She felt him lean away a moment and heard him quietly moan. "What? Am I doin' it wrong already?"

"You don't know just how smart you look with a gun in your hand."

Without glancing at him, she smirked.

"And you can hold it with two hands if you need to, if you're nervous or it gets too heavy on your arm. Cup your other hand under the grip. There you go. _Jesus_…" he muttered under his breath. "For now I want you to get used to it with one hand. And you won't be fannin' the hammer. You'll use it like a normal person. Not an outlaw." He watched her continue to follow his commands. "Cock it. Good. Again." When she'd done it a couple more times, he was satisfied. "All right, we're gonna put one on the paper now. Get a good footin'."

She felt him position her knees, keenly aware of his hand lingering on her hip.

"Remember where I told you the sight is? Good girl," he said when she brought her finger up and pointed to it on the tip of the barrel. "Time to use it. Take aim. Now comes maybe the most important part: breathin'."

She felt him come close and remain partly behind her, keeping his head beside hers.

"Focus. Pay no mind to distractions; there'll be plenty of 'em. Keep calm and steady, that includes breathin'. In and out. No hitchin'. No snatchin'." He took a deep breath and released it as he spoke. "_Always_ pull the trigger…on empty lungs."

She felt his big hands press against the top of her back and slide down to each side of her rib cage at her back, where they rested as she took a breath.

"Let it out."

She released it and felt his hands hold her firmly in place.

"That's it. Don't draw it back in." He was so close he could hear her swallow. "Now."

She pulled the trigger and gasped at the feeling of the explosion in her hand. She looked at the target and saw that she'd hit the tree, but no paper.

"Not bad," he said.

"Not bad? At least I hit somethin'!"

"Do it again."

She did it twice more, hitting the tree both times.

"The paper, darlin'. You're aimin' for the paper," he chuckled. "Right?"

She clucked her tongue. "It's my first time. I'd say I'm doing pretty well."

"You are," he laughed. "Time to learn the rifle." He took the revolver from her and holstered it, pulling the rifle off his shoulder. He showed her the mechanisms.

When he gave it to her, it sank in her hands, and she pulled it up. "Oof. It's heavy."

"'Course. Heavier than a pistol. Now show me like you did with the revolver."

He listened to her show him again like she was the teacher, pointing and repeating the things he'd just shown her. "Time for shootin'. Now hold the butt flush against your shoulder. Brace it there. I mean really brace it. Good. If you don't, you'll have a bad bruise for days. Might even pop your shoulder outta socket." He nearly laughed when she looked at him with furrowed brows. "Don't worry. I'm here to teach you how to do it right, remember?"

As she held it up with both hands and took aim, she felt him come even closer than before, bringing an arm around to set her up for the shot. He didn't use any words this time, trusting her to remember what he'd said about footing, aiming, and breathing. She eyed her target and slowly released a breath, trying to ignore his finger sliding under her hair at her neck and gently pulling it back. Just when she was in the middle of pulling the trigger, she felt his lips press against her cheek, and the bullet left the gun.

"Arthur!" she whined as she turned to him. He wasn't looking at her. He was smiling brightly, looking off towards the tree. She turned back to see what he saw: that she'd finally hit the paper. Her eyes went wide, and she almost jumped up in exuberance. "Put _that_ page in your journal."

"Oh, I will."

It was unlike any feeling she'd had, different even than catching a fish. She turned back and leaned forward, wanting to kiss him, but she hitched up and hesitated when she realized she still had the rifle in her hands.

He was already removing his gun belt. "Here," he said with a hand out for the rifle. No sooner had he set the gun belt and rifle down, than she was on him.

* * *

**This chapter is accompanied by screencaps as inspiration for Eliza in the last scene on Ao3: archive ofourown works/22767514/chapters/60106792**

* * *

**Dear Sweet Readers (if there are any of you left 😬😅),**

**The song Eliza sings was lyrics I wrote, inspired very loosely by another song. It's not really an old folk song, so there's no music to it. I trust it's very nice in your imagination. 😊**

**I realize my fic is more wordy and a lot less smutty than the average fic. I know it will only attract a few people to begin with for that reason. But I hope I haven't bored you to death with the inner monologues of the last couple chapters. I think it's how I work through what the characters are experiencing.**

**If you're still here, I'm very impressed. And thankful. I bet there are still a few. Even if nobody reads this whole series, I have to get it all out. I have to.**

**I'm realizing that being a fic writer (and probably a writer of anything) is very special: it's both a blessing and a curse. Probably no one, no reader, can say it means as much to them as it does to you. But it's still wonderful, without a doubt. That's why I have to get it out. 💛**

**If you ARE still here, I won't waste it. Trust me. The next chapter will be the most dense to date. Maybe the most emotional for me so far. A lot happens.**

**Thank you again, from one Arthur-lover to another,**

**Rosie**


	25. 25

**Dear Sweet, Dedicated Readers,**

**Please take a breath before reading this chapter. 1. It is quite a long chapter. The longest yet. I considered chopping it into multiple chapters, but I couldn't find it in my heart to do so. I tried to break it up with quotes. 2. By nature, it is also a jam-packed and weighty chapter. Please don't neglect that breath.**

**What I'd also like to note at the top here is that I've shared links with you to two songs I've included that mean a lot to me, had a lot to do with the creation of this chapter, and that I feel go very well with the chapter and/or corresponding scenes. By no means do you have to listen to the songs, but they're there if you'd like to.**

**I also included a just a sketch of my own as a concept of a moment in one of the scenes. It is featured as part of the chapter on Ao3: archive of our own works/22767514/chapters/61234234**

**Thank you again so much for being here. I'll check back in with you at the end of the chapter.**

**\- Rosie**

* * *

.

"We can't decide if we have fallen

because every single call is a chance

to realize we're dependent

on the fate of our circumstance.

.

We've been living minute to minute.

We've been holding onto every breath.

Somehow our hearts are still in it,

but all our innocence has left.

.

I am done with waiting

on the creek to rise,

'cause there's more to life.

.

We're in for nasty weather,

and I'll ride it out with you.

We won't be riding highs and lows

like tides of ocean blue.

.

We won't be here forever—

just a moment, then we're through.

We can't be shifting with the sands

like seasons always do."

.

\- Needtobreathe, "Seasons"

you tu . be /-gtt5Cd6qjo

* * *

As Arthur rode up to the homestead one morning after a long absence, Eliza froze where she stood as Isaac played with his blocks and wooden puzzles on the porch. Arthur stepped up the porch steps, and when he came towards her, he saw that she was drained of color, and her eyes were wide and frozen stiff.

"You're _here_," she said in a ragged breath, nearly reaching out and taking him by the collar, though she restrained herself. Her brows were drawn up, and her eyes were wet. "You came back!"

"'Course," he almost chuckled, his brows coming together. "'Course I did." He paused and eyed her. "You hear about that shootout west of here? Were you thinkin' I got caught up in that?" He shook his head. "Weren't us. Wasn't there."

Eliza slowly drew back and studied him as he knelt to greet Isaac. She sniffed and quickly wiped a silent tear away while he wasn't looking. "You were gone a whole two months this time."

He looked up at her from where he was squatted. "I know. I couldn't get away," he said before looking back down at Isaac. The tone of the last syllable had a downward slope to it.

She nodded, licking her lips as she sat back down on the porch swing.

.

That night as she lied in bed in her nightgown facing the opposite way, she felt Arthur come close, propping himself over her on the bed with an arm on either side of her. He gently kissed under her ear, nuzzling her under her hair. When she turned her head to him, he immediately kissed her on the mouth. She felt a rolling ache swell low in her belly and knew it was her longing for him; but when a stone rose in her throat, she knew she had to stop him before the tears showed themselves. She hadn't decided if she would talk to him yet; and even if she did, she was going to put it off for as long as possible.

"I… I'm tired, Arthur," she whispered, patting his forearm.

Pulling back, he looked at her and nodded.

As she turned her head back to rest her cheek on the pillow, his arm accidentally brushed against her breast as he drew it back from around her; and she knew the two of them were at least very close and comfortable with each other, despite how he tried to deny it.

It was confirmed to her when she felt him place a kiss on her cheek. It wasn't a quick peck—he lingered there and even remained close for a moment or two when he was done. And it was only after she'd turned him down. It was a kiss for no other reason than to give her the feeling of his lips against her skin and to let her know that he was thinking of her, at least in that moment.

She felt her insides leap even more forcefully with yearning. As he lied down beside her, her brows drew together, and she bit her lip to keep from crying.

.

The next morning after Eliza cooked breakfast and sat at the table with Isaac and Arthur, she put her cheek on the heel of her hand as she raked her fork through her scrambled eggs. She sighed and finally opened her mouth, but it wasn't to eat; it was to speak.

"Arthur?"

"Huh," he said from across the table, focused on Isaac.

"Am I just a waitress?" she said quietly.

He looked up at her. "What? What the hell you talkin' about? Why're you askin' me that…"

She looked away and slumped her shoulders, stuffing her hands down into her lap. He was flustered, but he wouldn't answer her. "I've just been thinkin'…a lot lately… You know, you might've really loved some ladies before me. But none of them ever bore your children…did they? It turned out to be me. It was lil ol' waitress me…wasn't it? And I just think that…maybe…maybe you'd be where you wanna be now, if…if I hadn't been bor—"

"I ain't listenin' to this," he stood abruptly, the feet of his wooden chair scraping the floor. He picked Isaac up from his little cubby seat.

"But ain't it true?" she looked up at him with a wrinkled forehead. "You'd be able to…be with whoever you wanna be with, go wherever you wanna go… Wouldn't be tied down."

"No, it ain't true. Wouldn't have Isaac," he brought a hand to Isaac's back.

She gave a little nod and looked forward, her eyes still.

"Didn't you ask me that a while ago? Asked me if I felt stuck. Told you I don't feel that way. Why're you talkin' like this now?" He watched her swallow and shake her head as he pushed his chair in. "We're goin' out to the garden, pick some things. You come out and join us when you get right."

.

A little while later when the three of them were in the fenced garden area, Eliza stood watching Arthur smile down at Isaac from where he stood. He was in his full rugged getup, complete with a stalk of grain hanging out of the side of his mouth, and he'd donned his black hat before leaving the house. Isaac was sitting in the soft dirt, pulling with all his might at a carrot top. As she watched their son, she felt her throat tighten.

Arthur eyed her and lazily moved the grain with his tongue until he could grind the stalk between his molars. "What's wrong with you?"

"I…" Her lip trembled as she looked away. "Nothing."

"Eliza," he said firmly and sighed, shifting his weight as he removed the grain from his mouth and tossed it away. "Somethin' ain't right. I can feel it."

"I… You didn't…" She brought her brows together and shook her head. "You really didn't get my letter, did you?"

"What letter?"

She tried to take a breath and looked down. "Mr. Stork came by again." She sniffed and looked up to catch sight of him squinting at her.

She took another breath. It was something she hadn't thought she'd have to do—say it out loud to him. Something about the word was laid bare and vulnerable—in the moment, it somehow felt more vulnerable than being naked before him. Speaking aloud that they'd been alone together in the dark and quiet; that they'd done what husbands and wives, what men and women do; that they'd known the tender, secret parts of each other. Admitting, if only to the birds and trees, that the two who now stood in the sun—this scarred, hard outlaw and this honey-haired little girl—had been one.

That she had been bold enough. That he had been gentle enough.

"I got pregnant again, Arthur." She watched his eyes slowly grow wide as he brought his hand up to his forehead. "I think it was back…when it was rainin' real hard. That thunder storm. You remember?"

"I remember."

She swallowed and hurriedly looked down before whispering, "We didn't know we had two babies with us that day at the creekside." She kept her face down but tried to watch for his reaction.

He swallowed and shook his head. "Well, maybe…this time…maybe it'll be different for you, than the first time, since I…I can come round every so often like I been doin'." He wagged his head and brought his hand over his forehead and eyes. "Shit…"

She intently watched what was uncovered of his face and noticed the tiniest sliver of a curl appear on the corner of his mouth. "You're smilin'!"

"What?" he said removing his hand and looking at her. "_Nooo_…"

"You're smilin'!" she pointed.

"I _ain't_."

"You are! Oh_ god!_" she shook her head and covered her face with both hands. "Oh, god! I can't do this! This might really put me in my grave!"

"_What?_ Eliza." He tried to pry one of her hands away. "Eliza… You got somethin' else to tell me?"

As she let him pull her hands away, she noted his concern when he saw what her face looked like.

"Eliza, what the hell is goin' on? The whole of it, now."

She sniffed. "It's true; I got pregnant again. Except this time…I miscarried our baby, Arthur. She came out of me too early." Her chin trembled again. "Much, much too early." She watched his expression teeter back and forth between shock, pain, confusion, frustration, and fear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," she huffed quickly, her nervous, feverish thoughts at his reaction to finding out in the first place finally boiling over. She hadn't been able to keep from imagining his disappointment, frustration, even anger. "I didn't mean to get pregnant again, honest. I swear it. I swear. I'm usually very good about keepin' track. But she came," her voice broke, and her face crumpled, "and then she…" She swallowed, shaking her head. "Back when I was staying with Addie, she said it could happen to anybody, losin' a baby. She said it could happen, and it wouldn't be anybody's fault. And I think I know that. But I just…" She looked up at him as she cried. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Eliza, stop. Stop, now," he said, catching her by the wrists. "I don't wanna hear that outta your mouth again. We were stupid, the both of us. Playin' roulette like that. As if Isaac himself weren't warning enough." He looked down at her as she cried. "It… She… She was…a little girl, you said?"

She nodded, her tears overflowing. "She was just big enough. About the size of a strawberry. I buried her under the flower bushes you planted out front."

He grimaced and let his head sag back a bit. Only then had it hit him what a bloody, tragic mess it must've been. And yet again she'd gone through it all alone. He was sick to his stomach at the thought.

"I didn't know…they were so intricate, on the…inside. I know I probably sound demented to you, but…she was so perfect, Arthur. So beautiful. Even in death. I wish I could've gotten a photograph of her for you. So you could know her." She sniffed deep and let out a sob, her voice pinching. "She deserves to be remembered. All who pass on do. Don't you think so, Arthur? And not everyone gets to be."

His eyes sagged at the corners as he took a deep breath. "Were you in much pain?"

She nodded slowly, then confidently. "But not as much as when I had Isaac," she mumbled. "And not as much as I have here now," she cried out, putting a hand to her chest.

He swallowed, his eyes crinkling together as she sobbed miserably. He shook his head. "No more foolin' around. No more," he said, his voice slowly rising. "No more, damn it. Hear me?" he said to himself as much as to her.

She shook her head and wiped at her eyes. "You really think we can go on livin' as nothin' more than acquaintances? After everything? Arthur, how's that ever going to work?"

"Don't matter how. We'll make it work."

"You can't keep yourself from me like that, Arthur! You just can't!"

"And what if it were to happen again? You'd need assurances from me I can't give you! Goddamn it, Eliza! You can see that, can't you? You're not stupid, I know you ain't! You gotta stand up for yourself—in this maybe more than anything else. And here I am tryin'a do it for you!"

"It's not about that! It ain't!"

"Well, it oughta be." He swallowed, thinking about how it had all started on one of his early visits with a kiss, how it was only ever meant to be a kiss. How it should've stayed that way, if anything at all. And now here they were, and it was much worse. He moaned. "We ought to've had exactly this conversation a long time ago." He frowned, his mouth tight as he looked at her. "The other option is that I just flat out stay away."

Her brows drew up as she gave her head a little shake, and her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

"Well then no more. No more foolin' around. I'm endin' it. I can hardly stand to see you like this."

She let out a deep groan between sobs. "I never should've told you."

"For chrissakes, Eliza… Nobody can keep that kinda thing bottled up… What you musta seen…" He looked down. "'Sides. I had a right to know. You woulda been selfish to keep it from me. And you ain't." His eyes slid back up to her. "When did this happen?"

She sniffed and pulled her top lip in for a moment. "About a month ago."

"And you been carryin' on since then, just like normal?"

"I had to. Had no choice."

"Jesus…" he sighed.

"It happened only after I wrote to you about bein' pregnant."

"I never got any letter."

"I thought you'd either come right away or never come back at all. I tried to believe you'd come, so when you didn't, I was real worried about you."

"Worried— You were worried—about _me?_" He brought his hand over his eyes, then looked back at her. "Eliza. How… When it ha-happened… Are you all right now?"

She swallowed as she was taken back to when she'd first realized she was pregnant again, with missing her monthly and beginning to vomit. How she'd been filled with both excitement at the thought of another child, and dread—that Arthur would think she'd done it on purpose, that she'd have to get through to him that she hadn't, and how badly that alone would hurt. She remembered hunching over the kitchen table, quietly crying as she finally put pen to paper to write him the letter. Mailing it, hoping with all her might, hoping maybe beyond hope, that he'd open it and would immediately jump on his horse in a flurry and fly to her.

But somehow, despite all the terrible nerves, despite fearing she would be made to feel like she'd failed, failed again at doing the one thing a woman should be held accountable for in their world—not getting pregnant—despite all of that, she'd felt that her little body was still so pleased with itself. That while they'd only been doing what men and women do, her body had only done what it was meant to do.

She remembered excitedly standing to the side before her oval, stand-alone full-length mirror every evening, pulling up her nightgown to check and see whether her belly had grown at all. It never did grow much past what she normally looked like.

She remembered waking one night to an awful, sharp pain in her lower abdomen, tossing a little before finally pulling herself out of bed. Weakly stumbling for the lamp on the dresser and turning it on. Pressing her fingers between her thighs and drawing back the dreaded sign: thick, bright red blood. Whispering, "No, baby, no. Please, no," before panic gripped her chest as another severe pang ripped through her—bad enough that she suddenly and shakily clutched for the dresser, causing the lamp to tumble with a crash to the floor and causing Isaac to wake with a wail. Stepping through the glass and leaving a trail of blood from two places on her as she walked to Isaac's room and tried to bounce and shush him back to sleep, unintentionally smearing blood in his hair and trying to choke back her tears along with him as she determined before long that she was still losing blood and other things. Setting him back in his crib as he grasped the rails and continued to cry. Wincing as she sank into her empty tub to pass the rest. Weeping uncontrollably. Thinking that this was the agonizing side of life, and that no matter how she tried, she'd never get used to it. Death.

But that wasn't even the worst of it. The worst had been after—being tempted to neglect her living child. Wanting nothing more than to crawl up in a ball on her bed and sink into the mattress, disappearing forever. The worst had been truncating her grief, pulling herself up against the weight of it with everything she had in her, and being a mother again. Even with the mental and physical pain and exhaustion.

But even through the darkness that had crushed in on her, she'd discovered a glimmer of light in her son's eyes. She'd realized she wasn't empty-handed. Not by a long shot. He was a gift that had been left for her in advance, to see her through.

She blinked her eyes as she stood before Arthur in the daylight, bringing herself back to his question about her physical well-being. How could she begin to explain to him all she'd gone through when he wasn't there? The physical trauma had only been a fraction, had almost seemed the least of her worries.

She swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. "It's all real delicate, what goes on inside me. All I know is I bled for near two weeks."

"_No_…" he breathed, immediately sliding his hands over his face and rubbing his temples.

"I was so exhausted. I've never been so exhausted in all my life, not even during the short time I was nursing Isaac and havin' my monthly at the same time. At first, I…" She was so ashamed to say it. "I was a little scared I might not be able to take care of him properly. When I finally got up enough strength, I went to see Addie. She was real upset with both you and me, but she looked me over and said I was okay."

"Why didn't I get that damn letter…" he said, though it was muffled through his hands.

"I don't know," she cried and sniffled, "but I really needed you, Arthur. I really needed you."

He took his hand away from his face and looked at her. "I'm here now." He came close and wrapped his arm around her. "I'm here." He patted her arm as he drew her into a hug, guiding her head under his chin. "She woulda been just like you, I know it. Golden waves, bright smile…and just a tad mischievous," he smirked down at her. "Truth is, one kid in the world with me as their daddy is probably too many. Poor Isaac's got a time of it."

A louder sob escaped her, and she shook her head.

"Hey…" he said softly. "No more tears, huh? You're about to break my heart. Ain't every day I get to see you two. And we only have so much time. Could you cheer up for me a bit?" he said, gently patting her arm again and trying to catch her downcast eyes. "Hm?"

She weakly nodded again and tried to sniff back her tears.

"Atta girl."

.

That evening after they'd put Isaac to sleep in his crib, Eliza stood at the bedside brushing her hair in her nightgown when Arthur silently walked in. She glanced at him and slowly and sullenly looked away again. He didn't utter a word as he shed his clothing down to his long-johns. Eliza turned out the lamp, and the two of them quietly climbed into bed next to each other.

Arthur looked up at the ceiling as she turned on her side away from him. Before long, he heard a dreadful sound coming from her and looked over at her. Her shoulders were jostling and trembling. She was literally quietly hiccupping to keep from crying. He looked back up at the ceiling and wondered how much she'd slept in the past month. Wondered too if he was only making it worse by being there.

.

The next morning Arthur cooked oatmeal for the three of them, and when Eliza came and sat Isaac in his chair and sat down herself, he set the bowls before them.

"Mornin'," he said.

She gave a little nod as he sat down to eat across from her.

In the middle of eating from his own bowl, he gently took the spoon from her hand when she began to feed Isaac. "Here, I'll feed him." He watched her sit back in her chair and eye the bowl of food before her. Only then did he realize he hadn't seen her eat a single bite since he'd been there. He reached out and nudged the bowl toward her a couple times.

Still feeding Isaac, he kept his eyes on her as she leaned forward to fold her forearms on the table. She brought one wrist up to her temple for a moment before replacing it flat against the table again, all while staring at the oatmeal. Fidgeting. It wasn't a good sign. He nudged the bowl toward her one more time, and she finally picked up the spoon. She pulled it lazily through the sludge and brought a small scoop up to her mouth and between her lips. He watched her throat gulp it down, but no sooner had she done it, than it started to convulse and come back up. He quickly dropped the spoon he was feeding Isaac with, stood, and scrambled for the porcelain bowl the water pitcher sat in, placing it before her just in time for her to regurgitate, though she tried to cover her mouth.

"Food's that bad, huh?" he said with a smirk.

She shook her head and scoffed a little chuckle, dropping her head in her hands.

"'S a…bad joke," he mumbled as he took her bowl away. "Been this way the whole time?"

She shook her head and sat back. "It comes and goes. Sometimes it hurts. Like a rock."

"I know it. But you gotta eat, darlin'. Look at me." He waited until he had her by the eyes. "You got to."

.

That night was the same as the night before—Arthur lied on his back while Eliza lied on her side facing away, hiccupping to try to keep from crying. He swiped his hand across his forehead and down the side of his face and held back his sigh. Before he knew it, Eliza had turned to him, her eyes still closed and cheeks wet. She reached her hands out for him and took hold of his shirt. As she tried to slip her arms around his middle, he pulled back and scooted away.

"Don't. Eliza. Hun. Don't," he said, hurriedly trying to peel her hands off.

Still she came close, trying to hug and clutch to him.

"Don't, don't. Eliza. Don't. Quit it. Stop it. Eliza!" When she didn't relent, he finally scurried up out of the bed.

She looked dazed and dumbfounded at him where he stood. "You won't even hold me? You won't…you won't even touch me?!"

"I… I c… Oh, Jesus, you gonna make me say it? I _can't_, you understand? I can't! I can't…can't risk it. You're lucky I'm even in the bed. I told you I ain't…doin' this. I won't. It ain't right. I won't do it to you. So I…I can't." He watched a look of terror flutter into her eyes as she realized his full meaning, and she covered her mouth tightly and let out a tiny muffled scream.

"_Oh my god!_ I'm cursed! I'm cursed!" She shut her eyes tight as she let out a little cluster of sobs. "Never again? You won't even hold me…"

A horrible streak of nerves coursed through him as he watched her unravel, turning her head and crying into the pillow. Still in his long johns, he hurriedly grabbed his cigarettes and matches and left the room. He went outside and stood on the front porch, leaning back against the house as he struck a match. He looked down as he proceeded to bring the lit match to the end of his cigarette and paused. It was shaking in his hand.

.

The next day during an early supper, Arthur watched her forlornly from across the table as she stared off at nothing. She wasn't trying to appear interested in her food, wasn't even trying to pay attention to Isaac. It was almost like she didn't have space in her fatigued, haggard mind to notice anyone else was in the room. Her eyes were sagged and sullen, and it was clear to him that all she was trying to do was keep from crying. As she abruptly stood and walked off into the corner, he finished feeding Isaac and put him to bed in his crib.

He came to her and gently put a hand to her back. "Come here." He brought her close when she turned. "Come on with me." He took her outside, and when she realized where they were standing, her face crumpled. He looked down with her at the dainty pink and purple flower bushes at the bottom of the porch as she cried. Rivers appeared on her cheeks, and before long, she was collapsing to the ground. He went down with her, determined to continue holding her through it. He watched without a word as she wept and reached out a hand to the soft earth beneath the flowers. Without care that she was making her hand filthy. Without care that she'd cake her nails with dirt.

He held her close and felt her shake with sobs as she wept and wept—more than he'd ever seen a person weep. Never had he felt for someone more. She was so young, so alive. And yet she'd known more of death than a person should. Her father, her mother, even the silly cow. And now this. He let his eyes slide over to her, not afraid of what he knew he'd see. He gently brought her head close to his chest as he looked back up at the flowers with her. He felt her pain seep into his own chest, felt himself grieve along with her.

He thought back to his time with Mary, how the two of them had been so young and carefree in their time together. As he felt Eliza shake against him, he knew this was nothing like that. This was different. This was as grown up as it got. She needed him. He looked down at her and stroked her hair.

One thing he wished more than anything was that he'd never told her to stop crying. How selfish and oblivious—even juvenile it sounded to him now. _You cry, Eliza_, he thought. _You cry to me._

He brought his hand down to her back and gently rubbed. He was wrestling with the idea of asking her something, with whether the question itself would help or make it worse for her, more painful. He finally decided to ask it and let her respond however was for the best.

"Did you…have a name?"

She sniffed and nodded. "My mama's name," she quietly cried. "Hope."

He felt his insides stiffen with a quiet panic. _No_, he thought. Anything but that, anything but a name that meant their hope was dead in the ground.

He swallowed hard. "That's beautiful, darlin'."

They sat there hunched together for a while longer, until the sun started to dip down behind the horizon. He felt her melt against him like butter. There was no integrity to her frame, hardly any energy left in her body. He gently took her face in his hands to look into her eyes, though she was limp enough that the skin of her cheeks slid against his palms. Her face was soft and tender, her nose red, her eyes emptied of everything.

He slipped his arms through hers and around her waist and pulled her up to her feet with him, though he intentionally took the majority of her weight. With his arms still around her, he brought her close and allowed her to lean on him as he half-carried her back into the house and to the bedroom.

He gently sat her on the bed and poured some water into the porcelain bowl, bringing it over with the bar of soap and washing the dirt from her hands. Still in a fog, she quietly sniffed and watched him as he dried them with a towel.

He stooped and untied her boots, sliding them off one by one and setting them in the corner. He pulled her back up by the hands to a standing position and undid her stays, removing her gown by slipping the sleeves down her arms and pulling it up over her head. He averted his eyes from her bare skin as he went to one of the dresser drawers and pulled out a white cotton nightgown, slipping it over her head and arms.

He sat her back down on the edge of the bed and sat beside her, desperately trying to remember the things he'd seen her do before bed so many times. He looked around for her hairbrush and took it from the nightstand, gently pulling it across her gold hair. He watched her eyes close at the feeling, and he made certain to get every piece of her hair. He watched the waves go taught then spring back to life as he pulled the brush all the way through, and he smiled. When he was finished, he ran his hand through her hair and thought it was no wonder she did this every night: it was like he'd polished her every strand. Silken was a word too weak.

He returned the brush to the nightstand and looked her over, realizing she still had her stockings on. He prepared to somehow pull them off without touching her and slowly knelt before her knees. When he heard her take a quiet breath and hold it, he looked up at her. He swallowed and tried not to smirk as he reached his hands up under her nightgown and pulled her stockings off her calves, making sure to never so much as graze her skin with his fingers. He stood and placed the stockings in a drawer in the dresser. He decided to leave her undergarments exactly where they were and came to sit beside her again on the bed.

He took a breath. "You want a bath? I could lift you into the tub and…" He didn't know how to finish the sentence, because he was realizing as the words came out of his mouth that there was no way to avoid touching her with that one. He was thankful when he saw her shake her head, and he silently nodded.

The quiet sounds of sobbing began to arise from her again. He looked over at her from where he sat beside her. _Please don't cry_, he wanted to say; but the thought struck him that apparently he couldn't make up his mind about her crying. All he knew was that in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss all the pain away.

But he knew that if he kissed her, he wouldn't be able to stop. And as of yet, he hadn't reconciled the thought of risking getting her pregnant again. Any other form of love-making seemed a world away, out of place in the moment. And he was going back and forth in his mind as to whether love-making itself had a place in this moment at all. Perhaps his touch in that way would hurt her, physically or emotionally. Perhaps it would bring up dreaded memories of losing their baby. Perhaps even if she didn't think it would at the start, the memories would flood her midway through anyway. Perhaps she would panic once she realized she was risking getting pregnant again. And of course, they would be. There were so many reasons not to.

But as he watched her cry, he felt something deep in his bones draw to her like rain to earth. Like nail to beam. It was almost as though once the nail had pierced the wood, it had to be hammered all the way flush. There was no going back, no separating them. They were each other's comforter in this way, and they couldn't stop—certainly not now.

If ever he could allow himself to admit to himself that he thought of her as his little woman, now was the time.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he found himself taking her face in his hands, leaning forward for her mouth. He brought a hand to the side of her neck under her ear and felt her breathing catch when his lips gently met hers. He pressed his mouth fully to hers, lingering there and listening to the quiet click of their kiss. When he drew back to look at her, a tiny thread of saliva stretched between them for just a moment. Her eyes gently rose to his, and he could see that she hadn't mistaken him.

She hiccupped from all the crying. "I thought you said—"

"I know what I said." He chuckled softly. "Eliza… You gonna hold my feet to the fire on that one?"

Eliza shook her head. When he gently tucked her hair behind her ear, she closed her eyes. Every single time he did that, it was like he was touching her very soul.

She opened her eyes when he spoke again.

"I guess we'll just have to trust that everything in that area'll work out the way it's meant to." When she looked down, he dipped his head and looked up at her, catching her eyes again. He tucked his chin and slowly shook his head as he spoke. "Unless you tell me…just the thought is…too painful for you."

The tears fell from her eyes, and her chin trembled again. "Arthur…" she breathed slowly. "It would be much worse," she managed to whisper as her voice broke.

He drew back.

She took a breath and looked up into his eyes. "The thought of going through it without you is much worse," she sobbed.

Arthur looked at her and resolved right then that for once he would give her all the sweet, tender loving a good man would do in the same circumstance.

He brought his hands gently to her neck and kissed her forehead. "Don't cry," he finally whispered aloud. "Please don't cry."

Eliza felt her breathing steady when he pressed his lips to her cheeks, kissing the tears away, almost like a dear friend. She closed her eyes and cupped her hand behind his jaw when he tilted his head and his mouth found hers, and she knew they had to be more than friends.

He drew back and stood, and she watched him pull his shirt up over his head, unbuckle his belt, and remove his breeches, leaving him in just his long-johns. Soon enough, that was on the floor too. He came and sat beside her and slowly slipped his hands up her thighs, and she realized she still had on the nightgown he'd dressed her in. She lifted her arms as he pulled it up and over her head. It was so much like the first time they'd made love in this room. But everything was different now.

She looked down and saw his hands begin to untie her underthings. She'd seen the same big, rough hands handle the smallest of things in the gentlest way: holding fragile cigarettes without crushing them, tying a knot in fine fishing line, taking a newborn's hand between his own fingers. And now they were undoing the lacy tie in the waist of her knickers. And she noticed then that in all his efforts to attend to her and help her prepare for bed, he'd left in place the piece of clothing she normally never slept in. Until now.

When Arthur removed her linen pantaloons, they were totally bare to each other, as they had been several times before. But for once he wasn't looking at her with lust or for self-gratification. For once he just wanted to comfort her.

He came close and kissed her, bringing his palms to her back, and at first she was like a puddle in his hands. He watched her slowly recline in the bed, and again he fought against the railing in his head that this was wrong.

He followed her and kissed her neck and chest. He made his way down her chest to her abdomen and kissed her belly, where their baby would've been. He kissed her there softly, gently, over and over again. Her belly moved slightly with each breath that she took, but it didn't deter him.

When Eliza closed her eyes at his touch, her eyelids pushed tears onto her cheeks. She opened them and looked down at him, lifting his chin to bring his eyes up to hers.

When Arthur saw the state of her eyes, he returned to her and kissed her on the mouth. As he did, he traced his fingertips up the inside of her thigh and was relieved when they weren't tense or resistant, but loose around him. What surprised him even further and caused him to break away from her mouth and look into her eyes was briefly touching inside her and finding that she was just as ready as he was. He slowly brought both hands up the outsides of her thighs as he leaned in close, and they began to make love.

Before long, he was kissing her again. Her chin; her beautiful jaw; the corner of her mouth; her soft, smooth throat—some of his favorite parts of her body—he couldn't stop pressing his lips to them.

He felt and watched her body respond to him wherever he touched her. But without realizing it, he was responding to her touch too. He felt her long, dainty fingers move on the underside of his back, beneath his arm. He kept trying to make it about her, but somehow at the same time she was making it about him. Even as weary as he knew her heart to be, there was something like quiet lightning in her fingertips, and his entire body was quickly filling with it. She was clinging onto him for dear life, with everything she had in her, and he found he didn't mind. He felt himself clinging onto her right back.

It had never been like this before, and somehow he knew it would never be the same after either.

As he heard both their breathing quietly quicken and felt her chest rise and fall beneath him, he softly kissed her on the mouth again and again, sliding forward to kiss her cheek when he felt her tremble and clutch his shoulder, trying to catch her breath.

"_Arthur_…" came the name from her lips. It wasn't a whisper; it was hardly even a breath.

He drew back and looked at her face, swiping his hand back over her hairline a few times.

That was it. His commitment to abstain had lasted all of a day. He'd opened them up to the possibility of getting pregnant yet again, for the third time. He cursed himself inwardly. They were fools. Damn fools. But if they were, at least they wouldn't be alone in it.

Propping himself further up, he looked into her eyes and was glad to see a glimpse of the Eliza he knew returning to him—her eyes clear and dry, her body limp and relaxed, her breath easy, her mind sound and well.

She rose up and gently took his mouth in hers again. When he dropped down onto the bed beside her, she turned onto her side and followed him, bringing both hands up to either side of his neck and continuing to kiss him as he brought a hand behind her and slipped his fingers along the dips in her bare back.

* * *

"And I need your love; I need you here with me.

And I don't care 'bout much else.

And I know it's hard for five million reasons,

but I don't think I could wait.

.

And I need someone to lay down beside me

'cause I can't sleep by myself.

And my poor ol' heart's in five million pieces.

Now I'm asking for your help.

.

When I'm feelin' your love is like a wind that blows,

I can't give up, and I can't let go.

I won't give up, I won't lose

when I'm broken down and I'm bruised.

I'm gonna get myself back home to you.

Only you."

.

\- Parson James, "Only You"

you tu . be /rnPzo-rMpHM

* * *

Several minutes later with Arthur lying on his back, Eliza lied tight at his side with her cheek on his chest. He had his arm wrapped around her, trailing little circles lightly on her arm. They were alone in the still and quiet, left to nothing but each other and their thoughts.

It reminded Eliza a little of their very first night, all that time ago in the boarding house. They'd had to scrunch together in that tiny single bed of hers, and he'd fallen asleep in her arms. She'd watched him as he slept, fingering the hair dangling at his forehead. Little had she known she should've ditched him to the dung in the streets, for all she'd meant to him then. But by then, it didn't matter; it was too late. They'd already been tied together. She would watch him walk away and would carry his child alone.

She thought back to what it had been like to sleep in that same little bed all alone night after night—after knowing what it was to have him there with her—tossing and turning in longing for the very person who'd hurt her by leaving. Treading water amidst thoughts of how pathetic she'd been to give herself away to a stranger for nothing, and far more pathetic to be yearning after him once he'd left.

She couldn't have known then that it had been a foretaste of her life to come—to feel such empty, ravenous loneliness after having known the ecstasy of being so close to him, and to feel helpless to change it.

But he'd return. Oh, he would. And he'd fall so in love with their son; and he'd try to right some of his wrongs; and he'd inadvertently show her some the good he had stored up inside him. And every goodbye after that would only be harder, and harder still.

She felt a pain rise quickly through her chest to her throat and tears well in her eyes yet again at the thought. There was no possible way to measure just how hard this goodbye would be.

She took a quiet but unsteady breath. "Don't leave me this time, Arthur. Please. I can't take it."

With his hand gently to her back, Arthur looked down at her and saw the stock still expression in her eyes as she looked forward at the wall with her thumbnail in her mouth. His eyes sagged in concern for her. He could feel her tender little heart cracking and splitting into scattered pieces. It was plain to him that she needed him now more than ever.

"I'll stay through the end of the month, make sure you're all right." He brought a finger under the hair at her neck and gently pulled it so it was all at her back and kissed the top of her head. "Try to sleep."

At his words, she took her thumbnail from her mouth and brought her arm over his chest until her hand was at his other side.

He watched her eyelids slowly close as she drifted off.

* * *

"When the sadness leaves you broken in your bed,

I will hold you in the depths of your despair.

.

In the darkness, in the middle of the night,

In the silence, when there's no one by your side."

.

\- Martin Garrix & Bebe Rexha, "In the Name of Love"

.

"Do you know how safe

a woman has to feel

to fall asleep in your arms?

If you find yourself there,

her listening to your heartbeat

with slowly closing eyes,

just know everything is okay,

and remember that moment."

\- Nick Frederickson

* * *

They were in the same position when he woke the next morning. He looked down at her as she slept and remained in bed with her a little while; but he finally began gently removing her arms so he could get up.

When she blinked her eyes open and realized what was happening, still dazed she panicked and clutched at him, whimpering little half _no_'s before her face crumpled and a single sob racked her chest.

"Hey," he whispered. "I'm just goin' to make coffee. You're gonna walk out to the kitchen in a few minutes, and I'll still be here. All right?" he whispered gently, stroking her arm.

She swallowed and sniffed back her tears, nodding her head as he gave her a kiss. She watched him dress and leave the room; and after several minutes, she donned her nightgown and went to crack open the bedroom door.

When she saw him standing sideways in the kitchen with Isaac perched on one of his forearms dressed in nothing but his diaper, the both of them looking forward at the stove, she quietly ventured out and leaned back against the door jamb to watch them. She admired the slope of the back of Isaac's head and little neck as he looked down, closely watching his daddy's every move.

"What're you thinkin' for the oatmeal today? Water, or milk?" Arthur said.

"Agah. Pthdggff. Ubidooyah," Isaac replied.

"Exactly what I was thinkin'. Milk."

She slowly smiled when he started to sing.

"Three scoops of oats in the pot… Stir it up good 'til it's hot…"

Isaac suddenly whipped his head up to him with a bright smile on his face, touching his little hands to his own rosy cheeks.

Arthur looked down at him. "D'you just toot?"

Isaac released a low, knowing giggle, and Eliza kept her laugh quiet.

"No more," Arthur chuckled, waving a hand. "You're gonna make me change your diaper, and we're gonna burn the oats! No more tootin'." He turned his head for something on the counter. "Now, what're we gonna sweeten this with today? What's she got here… Looks like we got…" he said, turning each jar, "sugar, molasses, or trusty ol' honey."

"Fbbdgb. Dubbiwoogahmah. Gsfsytu."

"Honey. You're my kinda kid." He removed the lid and drizzled a bit of honey into the pot with the honey dipper. "And…what're we gonna put on top? Cinnamon, or nutmeg?"

"Sho coe. Wkjfiskshs. Uppitoyah oosa."

"Cinnamon. I like the way you think."

Isaac watched him sprinkle a pinch of cinnamon into the pot and suddenly sneezed the sneeze of a perfect little year-and-a-half-old with a single abrupt nod of his head. "Uh-oh…" he sang.

"Oh…you got hayfever?" Arthur looked at him, taking the fabric of his own shirt in his hand and gently pinching his button nose clean. "Naw. Just a little rogue sneeze." Isaac jerked and pulled his head away a little. "Boy, tootin', sneezin'… You're just a mess this mornin', kid."

"A-bocca-bee."

Arthur refocused on the pot. "Sure, whatever that means."

"Acah, summ toopah, a-bocca-bee?" he held out a little hand.

Arthur looked back at him. "I don't…I don't know what that means, bud."

"Yoo goobah sham tapa skdhdgaj ha a-bocca-bee," he nodded very matter-of-factly.

"What is it…what is it you want, babe? I don't…I don't know…" he shook his head. He kept stirring the pot, and Isaac looked forward with him. "This is for mama."

"Mama…"

"Yeah. Hope she eats it this time." He scooped up a little bit on the end of the spoon. "You wanna try it for me? Make sure it tastes good?" He blew on the little mound of oatmeal and held it up to his mouth. "'Course, if it's good, you'll get your own bowl. Don't worry."

Isaac opened his mouth wide for the bite. "Mmmmm…" he smiled and nodded.

Arthur grinned and kissed him on the cheek. Just then his attention was grabbed by the sight of her at the threshold of the bedroom door. "Hey…There she is. Your beautiful mama."

"Mama!" Isaac said with a bright smile. It was clear he was content with his father when he didn't reach out his hands for her.

She came and stood beside Arthur, coming near to gently put both hands on either side of his neck and rest her cheek beside his, giving him a soft kiss near the back of his jaw. She felt him smile and slid a hand down to rest over his chest as she pulled away and looked into his eyes.

"Mama," Isaac said softly, leaning forward to look at her. "A-bocca-bee?"

"I don't know what he's sayin', darlin'," Arthur said, watching her as she went to the cabinet.

She pulled down a jar. "That's how he says blackberry at the moment. Or boysenberry. Either will do." She unclasped the cap and held the jar out to him.

"A-bocca-bee!" he said as he reached for it.

"Wait," she pulled the jar back.

He immediately leaned forward with pursed lips.

She smiled and leaned in to meet him for a little smack of a kiss. "That's my boy."

When she returned the open jar before him, he smiled wide, diving his little hand and arm into the jar. "A-bocca-bee," he held one out for Arthur to see before immediately stuffing it into his own mouth and taking a few more into both hands.

"I see," Arthur smiled.

He looked up at his father's face and stuffed what he had in his hands into Arthur's mouth.

"Oh. Thank you," he mumbled. But Isaac kept shoving them into his mouth, one after the other, flattening his hands against his father's lips. "That's…that's plenty. 'S enough," he nodded.

She laughed. "He wants to share. Wants you to see how good they taste."

"Mm. 'S good. Real good," he grinned at him with a full mouth. His eyes went wide when he saw him start to squeeze the berries he had in his hands, concentrating hard on mashing his fists. "You don't have to squish 'em!"

"He _always_ has to squish 'em," she rolled her eyes with a smile.

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "Anyways," he said, turning as if just remembering. "Made you breakfast." He turned back and held out a bowl to her. He eyed her as she took it. He shifted Isaac's weight on his arm, watching her take the spoon in her hand and look away from the bowl for a moment. She finally took a bite, and he heard the spoon knock against her teeth. He watched her intently, waiting to see her swallow. When she finally did and it didn't come back up, she looked up at him with a hopeful curl on the corner of her mouth.

Arthur beamed. "Isaac, your mama just made me a very happy man. A very happy man," he said, turning to look at him and lift him up in the air. He slowly brought him back down into his arms, noticing the mess of berries all over his face and chest that was beginning to transfer to his own shirt. "And you're makin' me…a very messy one." He heard Eliza's short burst of laughter and turned to see her smile.

She set her bowl down and wet a washcloth with warm water leftover from one of the pots on the stove, wringing it until it was just damp. "Come here, Isaac," she said, taking him and sitting him on the tabletop. She brought the washcloth across his face, gently washing away the messy berries, all while he smiled back at her, closing and opening his eyes.

"When I did that kinda thing a little while ago, he turned and pulled away! Wasn't havin' any of it!" Arthur said.

"Who doesn't like a warmth cloth on their face?" she smiled.

"Mother's touch, is more like it." He watched as she knelt and brought her face close to Isaac's and the two smiled at each other, the morning sunlight coming in through the window behind them. Eliza kissed him, and he looked her right in the eyes, returning her adoration. It was nothing short of endearing to see the way she loved his son.

"He was already standin' up in his crib when I went in to get him this morning," he said as he folded his arms. "He was so excited, he was almost gigglin'. He reached out for me, and he was doin' this little bounce. You shoulda seen it."

"Oh, I've seen it," she said. "We made a very happy baby, you and I." She looked over at him and watched him smile. She turned back to Isaac to finish wiping his face. "He's never been quite so talkative with me."

Arthur lifted a hand to the back of his neck. "Ah, you heard that?"

"Saw it, actually."

"Yeah, he's my bud," he smirked and nodded. "Well, I promised him some oatmeal." He took him and turned back to the ladle in the pot.

Eliza picked up her bowl and spoon and continued to eat another spoonful, watching as he scooped a bowl for Isaac. She looked down at her food. "I'm sorry I clutched to you earlier." She let her eyes float up to see him turning back to her, before she returned her eyes to her bowl. "I know you don't like that. I know it makes me seem…"

"Eliza. Don't," he shook his head, looking into her eyes as she looked back up. "Don't. I won't be the person you apologize to anymore." He took a breath, his eyes heavy. "I've said some awful things to you over the past couple years, haven't I? Just awful things. Even in the past few days, without quite knowin' it." _Gimme some time; knowing me, I'll come up with more in the future, he thought._ He shook his head at himself again, his eyebrows pinching together. "If anyone should be sorry, it's me. Not you. Me."

Her eyes grew misty as she smiled. "I don't make a—"

"Habit a' holdin' grudges," he smiled with a nod. "I know. Oh, I know." He let out a single breath of a laugh, jostling his chest for a moment as he smirked at her and ran a hand across her temple to tuck her hair away. "Maybe you ought to every now and then."

.

That night they lied completely bare, in the same position that they had the night before, except they hadn't done anything this time. They hadn't made love. They just wanted to be close. And it didn't even feel strange.

Eliza brought her hand up and began tracing little paths over the veins on the back of his hand, then in his palm, then both their fingers began to dance and intertwine.

"Arthur?"

"Hm."

"Am I just a waitress?"

"No," this time he answered immediately.

She felt him wag his head, and it did her heart good.

After a minute, he adjusted his head on the pillow a bit. She heard him swallow before asking, "Am I just an outlaw?"

She shook her head. "No." She finally looked up at him, resting her chin on him as he immediately met her for a few short kisses. She looked into his eyes and felt the back of his fingers gently brush across her cheek before she rested the opposite one against his chest again. As she did, he slipped his forearm that wasn't against her back up under his head.

She took a deep breath. "My mama used to talk about… Have you ever heard of Celtic souls, Arthur?" When he remained quiet, she continued, "They're like… Have you ever seen a Celtic knot?" She felt him nod.

"My pa had one on a gold ring he wore on his little finger."

"They're like Celtic knots. They share a part of themselves; their very souls overlap with each other. It could be friends, a pair of lovers, a family. Out in the world, missing each other, going without each other, and they don't know it; and then they find each other, and they can't be separated. No matter what. Not really. And they could be different as night and day; but it doesn't mean they aren't connected—a part of each other. Knotted together. I used to think it was silly, a fairytale. Not so anymore. Not so at all. Maybe that's why it's so hard for us to part. For…the three of us…I mean…to part. And maybe it's one of the reasons it aches so when we're without each other."

He swallowed hard, feeling her under his chin. _Then we might really be cursed_, he thought.

"At least…" she mumbled, beginning to pull away, "that's how I feel…"

He quickly brought his hand to her back, keeping her from leaving his side.

She smiled and rested her hand on his chest beside her cheek. "What's California like?" she whispered.

He looked down at her and watched her eyelids float up and down as though she were daydreaming. He couldn't tell if she was fishing for clues about what filled his time when he was away. Since she'd gotten settled in the homestead, she'd never asked but once. He could always tell she wanted to know more. She'd ask to know things about him, but she was careful never to ask about his life once he stepped past the ranch. He could imagine her concern not only for his safety, but about who was warming his bed on lonesome nights. If it was one thing he could ease her mind about, he knew he should.

He opened his mouth to reassure her, but he couldn't bring himself to address it.

He cleared his throat. "It's…got a bit of everything. Seashore, orchards, desert, forest. Got these real tall trees with red trunks that seem to reach right up into the clouds. Meandering rivers, marshlands, lakes. The lakes are different at different times. In the day, they reflect the bright blue sky, and you can hardly tell the two apart. In the early mornin', they look dusty, with a veil of fog sittin' on top." He rubbed her bare back as she nestled in tighter with a soft grin, imagining the pictures he painted. "Critters of every kind, some I ain't ever seen before. Rolling hills and valleys. With the brush and shrubs scattered the way they are, the hills look like they've got freckles and birthmarks." He looked down at her with a subtle curl on the corner of his mouth and brought his hand up to her neck. "Like this." He touched the tips of his middle two fingers to her skin, and she looked down as he slowly and lightly traced a path over her shoulder, her arm, her waist, and down over the curve of her hip. He watched her cheeks pull up into a smile. "And the mountains… At night, they…catch the moonlight, and it's like they're lit from within. I swear it. In some places it's unkind, near inhospitable. In others, it's…the loveliest place I've ever seen. Wild and unruly. But just as beautiful."

She looked up at him with a wistful grin.

"You'd like it. It was practically made for you."

"Yeah? Really?" she smiled wide, flattening her hand against his chest and rising up a little to look down at his face.

He grinned and nodded.

"I thought you thought I wasn't an outdoorswoman…" she smirked.

He chuckled and nodded. "I noticed the bear rug in the sittin' room the other day. I looked at it, inspected it, thought to myself, 'You did this? This tanned up nicely. I guess we'll turn you into a right fine outdoorswoman yet.' Then I caught myself and realized, 'Nah, she already is.'"

Her smile brightened even more, and she came close and kissed him before slowly replacing her cheek on his chest once more. "Maybe I'll see it one day. Maybe you'll take us there." She brought her hand up to rest beside her face atop his chest. "Maybe… It's a nice word." She quieted for a moment and swallowed. "Maybe we'll be able to get far, far away."

He tried not to let the pain in his chest grow as he listened to her.

"Maybe we'll all live together someplace else. Some _time_ else. Somewhere kinder to us."

When he heard her voice break, he realized she knew it would never happen.

He looked up at the ceiling and swallowed as he stroked her shoulder. He thought back to the night he'd met her, hounded her, and, like a wretch, left her lonesome. One thing he knew was he wasn't that same person anymore. Not quite. She'd done that. Even if she didn't know it. She and Isaac had. But it was almost too much to hope that he'd changed for the good, or that even if he had, he wouldn't end up changing again.

He looked back down at her. "Maybe…" he whispered slowly and quietly, "I ain't a bad man. Maybe we can give Isaac security, the life he deserves."

She turned her head to him and looked him with eyes full of tears.

As she turned away again to rest her head on him, he brought his hand from her shoulder up to her temple and stroked her hair as he kissed the top of her head. "We can say 'maybe' about anything you want to, just for tonight."

* * *

"Lying beside you,

here in the dark,

feeling your heart beat with mine.

Softly you whisper.

You're so sincere.

How could our love be so blind?"

\- Journey, "Open Arms"

* * *

It was the longest he'd ever stayed: a full ten days. But he didn't regret it. The fresh, rosy color began to fill her cheeks again, and the sprightly spark gradually returned to her eyes, to the point that he felt she'd be okay when he had to leave again.

When that day finally came, they rose out of bed that morning to change, and she pulled the worn, softened collar of one of his pale blue button-downs closer around her neck. "Can I keep this?" she asked him. "I think it would help me sleep better when you aren't in the bed."

He took the open placket beneath the collar in both hands and softly smirked. "It suits you. Always has."

After they'd dressed, woken Isaac, and eaten breakfast together, Eliza watched Arthur slowly stand from the table. He was clad in his full rugged cowboy getup from his black leather hat to spurs—a sight to behold. Before she realized it, she was standing as well, at the opposite side of the table with both arms around Isaac as he perched on her hip.

The three of them were there for a moment, just gazing at each other until Arthur spoke.

"I know I…" He sighed and shook his head, looking down. He brought his head back up and peered at her. "You know I don't…mess around…when I'm away. Don't you?" He watched her cheeks rise with a smile as she blinked, raising a hand to her mouth.

"How could I know that, Arthur?"

With a grin on one side of his mouth, he lowered his head and rubbed his neck. "You know, I've never told you this, but…I had a lot of sleepless nights after I left you that very first time, way back when. If it means anything to ya—"

"It does." She nodded.

He breathed a chuckle and gave his head a little shake. "You had me tossin' and turnin', girl. You did."

As he looked at the two of them, he swallowed, and his smile slowly fell. He reached up and removed his hat. "Here. Take this." He held it between both hands. "You haven't ever seen me without it, have you? I mean, at least somewhere in my things. It's because it…well, I guess it's important to me. But it ain't—" He sighed. _It ain't all there is. Ain't even close_, was what he'd wanted to say as he looked up at the two of them. "I don't want you to ever worry that I won't come back. Though I'm sure hearin' that don't make it any easier on you. Take it," he said, placing it on the table and pushing it towards her. "At least until I'm next back. As assurance that I will be." He shook his head as he spoke. "I won't ever forget about you two. And I won't ever stay away. This I swear to you now, Eliza." He wasn't afraid to lock eyes with her to drive home his point, though hers were misty. When she reached out and took it, holding it against her chest and looking back up at him, he smirked. "Whenever I've got the sun in my eyes, I'll think of you two, and how I've gotta get back."

With her brows drawn up just a bit, she blinked, smiling softly and nodding.

He walked out the door, and she quietly followed with Isaac. When the three of them walked over to Boadicea in the sunshine, he stopped and turned around to them.

He took in the image of them as they both looked back at him. Eliza's hair was loose and hanging about her shoulders. She had her arm under Isaac's bottom with her free handing holding her own wrist for support, and Isaac was resting his head on her shoulder.

He came close and kissed Isaac on the cheek. With one hand still clinging to the back of his mother's neck, Isaac lifted his head, leaned forward, and reached out a hand to his father's face with puckered lips. Arthur chuckled, easily complying this time, which garnered a bright smile from his son. He ran his hand through his blonde hair and brought his finger down to stroke his cheek with a smile.

When his eyes slid over to Eliza's, she was already looking at him. She wasn't smiling or frowning—she was calm and quiet. They looked each other deep in the eyes, and he brought his fingers up to her cheek and jaw. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers ever so softly.

And it was the most tender goodbye they'd ever shared. Standing in the fresh, clean air, he held one hand to her waist with the other softly resting to the side of her neck as they kissed, and when he drew back, he even felt himself smile as he looked into her eyes again. There was something new and different, something light and wispy between them after this visit. It was almost like it had happened when they weren't looking.

His little woman. A golden-haired beauty in a pale pink frock with little red flowers on it, holding their son, standing in the sunlight, loving him. He felt her warm hand on his chest. And he turned and mounted his horse.

It had proven difficult to get her out of his mind after that. Several minutes later as he listened to the sound of his horse's hooves beating the dirt, he found he wished he was still standing there with her. He thought about turning back, and for once it wasn't for Isaac. When he realized that, it scared the hell out of him, and he pressed on.

Back at Camp, During His Absence

"I want a couple of boys over there to scope it out," Dutch said, pointing men to their horses. "Take young John with you; he needs to get some experience in. Come back by nightfall and let me know what you find." Glancing over at Hosea, he took a few firm steps toward his tent as the men left. "And Arthur—where the hell is he? _Where the hell is he?_" He lifted his arms and dropped them, lowering his voice. "If I find out he's with them, Hosea, I swear to god, I'll—"

"You'll what?" Hosea said. "You can't cast him out. It's his woman and child, Dutch. His woman and _child_. You're a lot of things, Dutch, but you're not cruel. Least I didn't know you to be."

"I would never cast him out. There's no question of that. He's just distracted. Needs to get his priorities straight."

"Tell me you're not throwing his loyalty into question." Hosea scrunched his eyebrows and went into a strained whisper. "He's got reason now to be more dedicated than any man here."

Dutch shot his eyes up at him. "Arthur's not a family man."

"What if he is? Or what if he could be? You don't know. And what would be so wrong with that, if he did decide to make a life with them?"

Dutch slowly lifted his head and peered at him. "I don't like the way you're soundin', Hosea. What would be so _wrong_ with it? I could give you _three_ things, just off the top of my head, and you both know them well. One is I pulled that kid outta the goddamn gutter," he pointed firmly to the ground. "He owes everything to me, owes me his very life." He held up two fingers. "Next is he, just like every one of us, is a part of something bigger than ourselves here. Make no mistake, we're changin' things, slowly but surely. He's integral. Absolutely essential. It's all part of the code. Outlaws for _life_."

"Maybe that's not enough anymore."

Dutch's expression smoothed, and he straightened. "All right, fine. You wanna play that game? 'Oh, family changes everything, Dutch, and oh, how you can't understand it.' Horseshit. We're his family. Women come and go."

"You'd never say such a thing about Annabelle."

He stilled. "You're trying to tell me you think what he's got with that little girl is love?" He chuckled snidely, slowly shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Hosea, there's just no possible way."

"Oh—that reminds me," Hosea said, going into the inner pocket of his jacket. He pulled out an opened letter and handed it to him. "You'd better read this before I go and forget about it again. Came in for him about a month ago. When I saw it was from her, I thought you'd better see it."

Dutch sat on a stump, unfolded it, and read it, though the ink was splotched from drops of liquid in places:

"

_Dearest Arthur,_

_How I wish I could call you 'my dearest Arthur'—just mine. I hope with all my heart that you're safe and well, wherever you are. You know we both miss you terribly._

_This is the hardest letter I've ever had to write, and I've debated over and over again not writing it at all. But it was the worst feeling not being able to tell you about Isaac, and I told myself I wouldn't make the same mistake this time, since I've got a way to contact you now._

_Arthur, I know I promised I would only allow us to make love when I knew it was during a time I was unlikely to get pregnant. But it seems I slipped up. I swear to you, on my mama's and daddy's graves, that I didn't mean for this to happen, Arthur. I never planned to entrap you again. Please, please don't hate me, Arthur! And please don't stay away. If you can't help but hate me, at least return for Isaac. He needs you. Oh, how he needs you. And we can go on with things just the same way they've been, if that's what you want. I can make it work on my own. I'm ready to go through all of it all over again, because I already love this baby. She comes from you and me._

_We were there, Arthur. We were. You and me._

_"_

Dutch's eyes quickly drifted over the rest of the page where she went on to express her love for him.

"_Shit_," he spat. He looked up at Hosea, his jaw tensing as he spoke slowly and deliberately. "He's still sleeping with her."

Hosea nodded.

"Pair of fools. After knocking her up once, as if that weren't enough. Here he is, knocking her up, _again_," he held out the _n_ and crumpled the letter in his hand. "The little hussy."

"Who—the girl, or Arthur?"

"Both!"

"Dutch…" Hosea's brows came together in sympathy. "She really must be young. An older woman would never put up with his leavin'. He's lucky."

"You know, just because she talks to him like that, doesn't mean he feels the same way."

Hosea shrugged and shook his head. "I can only go off what I'm given, Dutch." He looked at him. "Add up the evidence: this, his behavior… You remember how he turned down a night in the brothel those months ago? Although, now that we know he's still sleeping with her, I suppose it coulda just been that he didn't want to risk taking sickness home to her, but—"

"Home?" Dutch said, his head popping up at him. "His home isn't with her; it's here—wherever the gang is."

Hosea sighed. "You and I know Arthur better than anybody. You know the way he loves: as soon as he realizes it, he's devoted. Think of that Mary girl," he said with a nod of his head to the side. "She had to be the one to break it off with him."

Dutch's eyebrows rose. "He told it to me a different way."

Hosea tilted his head and shrugged one shoulder. "Love and loyalty are intertwined for Arthur. Think of the way he is with me, with you. Think of what he must feel for that kid."

"What are you getting at?"

"Maybe he knows that about himself. Maybe he's wrestlin' with it all." He looked at the letter in Dutch's hand. "And she seems like a sweet girl. If she is, how could he keep from loving her?"

"Well even if it is love, it doesn't matter one way or the other. It's pap. It's meaningless," Dutch said with a wave of his hand.

Hosea was quiet until Dutch looked back up at him. "You and I know what a woman can do to a man's soul. What we don't know is what a child can do."

Dutch let his head sag back. "Enough," he chuckled sourly. "I said there were at least three reasons stacked up against him stayin' with them. Know what the third is? It's that Arthur _craves_ this life. You know it, I know it, and _he_ knows it. He was made for it. Out there in the world he's seen as broken, misshapen; but here? Here he's important, he's needed. And he fits perfectly. That's what family is. Now tell me he's gonna turn his back on that for anything? He won't. No, sir. I won't let him." He shook his head as he stood.

"It's sticky, Dutch. It's delicate. It's life. What are you gonna do about it? There's nothin' to be done."

"He and I will just have a little chat when he gets back—catharsis of sorts."

"Go easy on him. You'll make him weak."

"Maybe weak is just what he needs to be for a little while."

"I'm serious, Dutch. You press too hard, you'll drive him away."

Dutch raised a hand. "I am nothing if not a gentleman. It'll be gentle, but stern. And above all, _clear_."

"And the last thing you can do is tell him to quit sleepin' with her. You'll out us for snooping into his letter."

"Oh, by the way, burn that," he said, handing him the crumpled letter. "The fine institution that is the United States Postal Service dropped the ball with that one and lost it in the mail."

"No way in hell I'm doing that," Hosea shook his head. "Burn it yourself. I feel bad enough as it is. Snoopin' is as far as I go."

Dutch tossed it into the nearby campfire, watching the flames disintegrate it.

Hosea's face smoothed. "You really must not have faith in him," he said quietly.

"It's not that," Dutch glanced at him as the light of the fire danced across his face. "It's just…" he looked back at the fire, "insurance."

Upon His Return to Camp

As Arthur tethered his horse and dismounted, Dutch and Hosea walked up.

"Arthur!" Dutch called. "My son!"

"I know, you don't have to tell me, I know," Arthur said, nodding and holding his hands up before letting them fall. He hung his head slightly and only got a few steps into camp before Dutch reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

Dutch dipped his head and looked up into his face, keeping his warm voice low. "You've just come from heaven, haven't you? With two angels." As Arthur looked up, Dutch peered into his eyes. He nodded and patted his shoulder. "Well, welcome back to hell." He straightened and smiled, raising his voice to a normal level. "I'm glad to see you, son." Keeping his hand on his shoulder, he started to turn so they could walk forward together. "There's nothing like being back with your own kind after dreary days with a dumb, common broad." He sent a glance Hosea's way with the last few words.

Arthur immediately hitched up a step. "Hey—" When Dutch simply turned back to look at him, he softened just a tad. "Hey…come on, Dutch, don't…don't talk about her that way. She's just a kid. Well—she ain't _just_ a kid. But she didn't ever intend to get caught up in all this. She's doing the very best she can with what she's been given."

With his arm still outstretched and his hand still on his shoulder, Dutch let his own shoulders go completely slack and hung his head, cursing under his breath.

Arthur caught a glimpse of Hosea stroking his chin.

Dutch patted his shoulder again as he looked up at him. "Come on, son." He turned and began taking him on a path out of camp. "Why don't you and I go for a little walk."

* * *

.

**A note to readers:**

**First I need to say, please know that I am in no way trying to make light of miscarriage or what women go through inside and out when they experience it. I work somewhere where I've seen the effects it has on women—before, during, and long after—and I can say confidently that it is ONE of the most tragic things that can happen to a person. Everyone responds to this unique type of loss in different ways. But it is not easily erased; it stays with you. I don't mean to say that there's no room for hope or that it's life-ending. But it is certainly life-altering. Eliza will carry this for the rest of her life.**

**I hope that there's enough compassion, sweetness, and smiles even in this tough chapter to keep you. Hope. It's a theme around here.**

**I know this chapter has kept you waiting. I'm ever so thankful that you're sticking with me. Love you guys, and I'm always so glad and thankful to hear your thoughts when you choose to share them.**

**\- Rosie**


	26. 26

Eliza was sitting at the kitchen table one morning while Arthur was gone, watching Isaac reach for his daddy's hat. After they'd shared breakfast, she'd sat him on the tabletop before her, and now he was preoccupied with the black leather cowboy hat resting to his right.

"You miss him?" She leaned back in her chair and smiled as she watched him reach and take it in both of his little hands. "Me too."

He inspected it inside and out, turning it over, fumbling with the tawny leather braid that adorned the brim. He finally put it atop his own head, and it sunk over him, covering his face.

She chuckled and leaned forward. "You can't wear that out, buddy. Much too big for you." She lifted the brim and immediately gasped with a wide, bright grin when their eyes met. His face relaxed into a smile, and she scooped him off the table. "Come on. Time for church. Think we might actually make it today?"

She swaddled him and put a bonnet on his head, strapped him to her back, saddled up, and rode into town. They arrived at the little church on the opposite edge of town before the service. Most of the churchgoers were kind and happy to see both her and Isaac. She slipped into one of the back rows with Isaac on her lap.

As the preacher spoke, Isaac looked down and noticed his right foot was bare. He looked past it and saw his shoe on the ground. He went to get down, but his mother kept him still. He turned on his belly and squirmed, trying to get down, but she pulled him back up. Finally, he began to whimper and whine.

"Isaac, honey, shh," she whispered. As he grew louder, the other churchgoers turned to look in their direction. They weren't aggravated or angry, but she felt horrible for distracting from the sermon. "Sorry," she whispered while Isaac continued to strain in her lap. She finally sat him beside her on the pew.

Isaac looked up at her. "Soo, Mama!" He pointed his little finger down to the ground, drawing his elbow back and pointing again and again. "Soo, Mama! Soo! Mama, soo!"

"Oh." She reached and picked up his little moccasin, replacing it on his foot.

"Yeah. Yeah," he smiled and nodded vigorously.

Eliza looked up when the congregation laughed.

"Out of the mouths of babes…" the preacher said with a gentle smile.

She released a breath and let herself smile.

After the service, Eliza was standing outside with Isaac on her hip when she felt a tug from behind.

"I love your dress," she heard a soft little voice say.

She turned around and looked down to see a little girl with glasses, no more than five years old. "Oh, thank you."

As she turned, the girl's eyes went wide, and she took in a big gasp. "I love your baby!"

Eliza smiled and knelt before her. "This is Isaac." She looked at her son, who had a finger in his mouth. "Can you say hi, Isaac?"

He looked at the girl and turned his face into his mother's neck with a soft smile, a pink blush filling his cheeks.

"Oh, honey…" Eliza clucked her tongue and chuckled.

"He's darling. An angel," the little girl said quietly. "I bet his papa's an angel too, huh?"

Eliza paused at the words. She sniffed as the image of the little girl blurred before her and nodded. "Yeah," she smiled. "He is. He really is."

"You're so pretty," the girl said, gently taking a piece of Eliza's hair near her face that had fallen out of her bun.

"Am I?" She smiled at her. "You're prettier."

"And so nice. Some big people aren't very nice." She suddenly smiled, and it grew wide, like she had just realized something. "I wanna be just like you when I get big."

Eliza's smile slowly fell away, and she swallowed hard.

.

A little while later, Eliza was knocking on the door of the boarding house with Isaac on her hip. "Come on, please. Open up…" she whispered to herself.

When the door finally opened, Maude and Susie appeared in the doorway.

"Eliza!" they said with smiles.

"What are you doing here?" Maude whispered. "Kessler might see you."

"She can't hurt me now," Eliza said.

Susie gasped. "Who's this, your little one?" She rested a finger against the back of Isaac's hand.

"Yeah, Isaac," Eliza smiled. She stood on her tip-toes and looked past their shoulders. "I've gotta talk to somebody. Is Cleo here?"

"Cleo?" Maude raised her brows. "You want Cleo?"

"Is she here?"

"She's upstairs in her room," she pointed. "Wh—"

"Thank you." Eliza rushed past them and up the stairs with Isaac. Before she could knock, Cleo opened it.

"Eliza?" Her brows drew together. "Come inside!" she said, closing the door behind her and throwing her arms around her neck. "It's been so long!" She looked down at Isaac on her hip. "Is this your little guy?"

"Isaac," she said with a smile.

Cleo looked at her. "What're you doing here? I can't imagine why you'd ever come back here if you didn't have to."

"I…I just wanted to see a friendly face, is all," she said quietly.

"Well, come sit." Cleo shooed her to a wooden chair against the wall and sat on the side of the bed across from her.

As soon as Eliza sat with Isaac on her lap, he arched his back, slipped through her hands, and got down. He quietly began walking around the room.

"How does he even walk? His feet are so tiny!" Cleo gushed. "Oh, look at those little moccasins!"

Eliza softly grinned as she watched him silently roam and explore. When he reached out for something on a low shelf of Cleo's bookshelf, he turned with it in his hands. "Isaac, I don't think Cleo would like you touching her things. At least we better ask before—"

"It's all right," Cleo chuckled gently.

Eliza smiled, touched by her graciousness as Isaac walked over with the item, his plump cheeks downcast and tucked above his chest as he tinkered with it while he walked. He came and held it out for his mother.

"Oh, thank you." Eliza leaned forward and planted both elbows on her knees, holding her palms out.

Without hesitation, he rested it in her hands: a steel pen. When he turned to continue exploring about the room, Eliza handed it to Cleo, and they both quietly laughed. He returned periodically to place random items in his mother's hands.

"Ba, ba, ba," he began singing to himself, "sha, sha, sa see, ba bee, bo…bocca-bee." He turned to his mother. "Mama. A-bocca-bee?"

"No, I don't have any with me, baby," she said softly.

He turned to continue inspecting the trinket he had without a fuss.

"Can you wait 'til we get home?"

At the upward lilt in her voice signaling a question, he answered quietly, still looking down at what he had in his hands, "Yeah."

Cleo smiled at her. "He's beautiful. Really. Just beautiful."

"Thank you," she smirked. "There's so much of his daddy in him."

"There's you in him too. You can't see it?"

She grinned softly and nodded. "Yeah." She held her hand out as Isaac returned to place a pocket mirror in her palm. "He'll be two in a little over four months. I just can't believe it."

Cleo took the mirror as she handed it to her. "And truly, he's well-behaved. You must be so proud. You're doing a wonderful job, Eliza. I hope someone's told you that."

Eliza's grin slowly brightened, and she looked down for a moment. "Just Arthur. But it's always nice to hear." She shrugged one shoulder as she looked back up at her. "So, how've you been?"

"Uh," she sighed, "nothin' new to speak of. Still stuck in this place. Kessler's the same ol' hag. No, I wanna hear about you. Why'd you really come back?"

Eliza peered up at her, one shoulder still shrugged up against her cheek. "Well, I…"

"Come on, let's have it."

"I just have to talk to somebody, Cleo," she finally said. "I'm about ready to burst at the seams, and there just ain't anyone I can really talk to about it."

Cleo smirked and grabbed a pillow from behind her, hugging it to her chest. "All right, you've come to the right place. Get it all out. Let's hear it."

At Camp

"_Wake up_," Hosea said low and quiet, roughly nudging and kicking Arthur in the shin with his boot, even though it was the middle of the night. "Wake up, you imp; you'll out yourself to the whole damn camp."

Arthur startled awake where he sat on a crate reclined against another tower of crates. "Wha…what? What's…problem?" he mumbled as he straightened. "What're you talkin' about, out myself?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hosea sat across from him with a bowl of stew in his hand and a chunk of bread on the rim. "You've just come from a certain ranch… I can't for the life of me guess who it is you could possibly be hollerin' out for in your sleep."

Arthur's face slowly went flat, and his eyes weren't half-mast from having just been woken as he smirked at him and sat forward.

Hosea held out the bowl. "Here. Noticed you all but forgot to eat today. Wish I could say it's so unlike you." He smirked as Arthur took it. "Now, about this uncustomary, needless ruckus you're makin'…"

"Can't hardly blame me. We're always runnin'. Don't get to see him but once every so often I can get over there."

Hosea softly lifted his brows and watched as Arthur dove into the stew. "That would be nice. 'Cept it wasn't just the boy you were callin' out for."

Arthur froze mid-bite and slowly sat back with a sigh through his nose. "Stew's cold," he said, tossing the spoon back into the bowl and setting it down on the grass.

"Well, that's what you get when you wait until one in the morning to eat."

"Bread's stale."

"Arthur."

"What do you want from me, Hosea?" he said flatly, lackadaisically shaking his tilted head. "What do you want me to say? That you got me? That they're…nice to be around?" he shrugged, his overzealous efforts to appear nonchalant betraying him. "Yeah, they're nice to be around."

"Quite a pathetic response."

"What do you know about it? Huh? You don't know nothin' about it!" he said, keeping his strained voice quiet.

"So tell me, Arthur!" He locked eyes with him. "Tell me. Tell your ol' friend Hosea about it." He rested his hand on his knee. "Hm?"

Arthur's brows drew together as he looked at him and sighed, struggling to know whether it was safe to unlock the vault and unleash the mess inside he'd been holding back for so long.

Cleo's Room

"My god," Cleo mumbled quietly, dazed and gazing off in the corner.

"Yeah," Eliza said, the redness in her eyes still calming down from the crying she'd finally gotten over minutes ago while finishing her tale. She hunched over again with her elbows on her knees and palms up as Isaac returned with another knickknack. The sweet little thing had been sad to see her cry, pausing and frowning with a whimpered, "Ah, Ma, Mama…" But at his age, he was easily distracted by the furnishings and things around him; and Eliza was thankful for it.

Cleo lifted a hand. "So you—"

"Mm-hmm."

"And he—?"

"Yup," Eliza nodded.

"Wow," she sighed.

Eliza licked her lips and looked over at her. "I came to you 'cause I… Well, I knew you'd understand. Probably the only person who might not judge me. And I figured I could trust you…not to tell…what he is."

Cleo snapped out of it and looked at her. "Oh, oh, of course not. I won't ever tell a soul, I swear."

Eliza nodded and sniffed, looking down at the floor. "I don't mean to say I regret anything, but I never thought it would feel this way. It's like I have what I want, but I don't. It's like it's very far from me, and I can't ever really have it. It's like torture. Bein' so alone. But at the same time, I don't feel I have any right to complain." She looked up at her. "He takes care of us. He gives us a good life. I've got a beautiful son, a beautiful home, and I get to see him. The one man I adore." She frowned. "Even if he doesn't adore me."

Cleo pursed her lips. "'No right to complain…' He ever hit you?"

Eliza's eyes went wide. "No, no! He's never ever laid a hand on me like that. He never would." She swallowed, her brows still drawn up at the thought. "He's so big and tall and strong, I…I'm sure he could intimidate and bully anybody into doing what he wants, and I'm certain he knows that about himself. But he's never been that way with us. I've never seen it. He puts that away when he comes home. It's almost easy for him, like gentle is just another part of who he is." She licked her lips and looked down. "I know what he does is wrong. Believe me, I know. I just can't seem to square it with the man I know." She looked back up at her in earnest. "He's gentle. He's good and sweet and gentle. He only ever touches me when invited."

"It's a sign of respect," Cleo smirked softly. "It's more than most men give."

"And I know he's at least keen to be near me." She swallowed, her eyes flitting away for a moment. "You know…all the little things on our bodies we worry about as women, that we're sure a man would never like. Even the things we feel are…less than desirable…" She slowly looked back up at her, fighting the flush she knew was appearing on her cheeks, reminding herself that she was talking to a fellow woman. She shrugged sheepishly. "He doesn't seem to mind." She looked into Cleo's eyes and knew she understood. "And when we make love…" She closed her eyes for a moment and put a hand to her chest, then raised it to swipe her hair from her temple, quickly becoming flustered and warm at her own thoughts. "Cleo, it's like… It's like we're the only two people in the whole world for a while. It's like we're mingled in more than just—"

"I know, you said," Cleo grinned sincerely.

"He makes me feel like he has to love me. He just has to."

Cleo nodded, a soft smile still on her face. "He good at it? Lovemaking?"

"Yeah," Eliza scoffed, then caught herself and grew quiet. "Yeah, he's good at it."

"That why you love him?"

"No! No, of course not!"

"Then why do you?"

Eliza thought for a moment and swallowed. "You won't really understand me when I say this, but it's really just because he's Arthur." She matched Cleo's blossoming smile. "There's so much to love about him. Doesn't matter what life throws at him, he still manages to be Arthur. Kind and tender and generous. He's real tough and coarse—fierce even. But at the same time, he's meek and mild, childlike. I've seen it. I always wanted to give him a fair shake, 'cause I saw somethin' inside him he couldn't hide. The good in him. I don't think most have seen it. He's very thoughtful. He's got a heart that looks for ways to serve us, when I never asked him to."

Cleo rested her cheek on the heel of her hand.

Eliza looked down and grinned to herself. "This last time he was home, after I told him, you know…about losing our baby, and after…we made love…that next morning, he made me oatmeal." A broken little laugh erupted from her lips, and she dipped her head. "Oatmeal." She closed her eyes with a smile and brought her forearms around her midsection. "And I swear, I could feel love in the warmth in my belly. Even if he didn't mean it that way." She opened her eyes. "He's sharp as a tack. Sarcastic, witty. Makes me smile and laugh. He's very protective too. He wants the best for us, really." She looked down at her son. "And the way he loves Isaac…" she smiled and slowly shook her head, her eyes growing wet. "You should see it." She smiled softly. "He's not like most people are around him, you know? He talks to him like he's a real person, not just a toy doll."

Cleo grinned as she listened to her.

Eliza flattened her hands and stuffed them between her thighs. "He actually talks with me too. He actually listens. He wants to hear me out, what I'm feeling. He's not perfect. No one is. But he cares enough to make things right. To try. To stick around and try when things get hard. He's got that in him. We've gone through thick and thin together." She swallowed. "It's funny, I…and I know it probably sounds ridiculous and childish to you, but…at this point, I think he knows me better than anyone livin'."

Cleo nodded, but her smile fell as she studied her. "Why do you think he don't love you?"

She licked her lips and shrugged one shoulder, feeling the corners of her mouth tug down fast in a frown. "It's hard to explain… He's never said one way or the other, but he's strongly alluded to not returnin' my feelings. A couple times now, in the night as he lies beside me, I've told him I love him. But he has his face turned. And in the morning, he gets up and goes right to work about the grounds, pretending he didn't ever hear me, but I know he did." She tilted her head and picked at a snag in her skirt. "Way back when, he told me outright that he's got no love in his heart. He's had a lot of hard things happen to him, Cleo." She slouched and looked down at her fingers, struggling not to let her chin tremble.

"You have too. And look at you. You keep right on with all your compassion. It's no excuse for a complete lack of love."

Eliza nodded. "Anyways, I knew it was an out and out lie, because I'd already seen his love for Isaac. But Isaac's his blood. Without question, he'd love him; it's easy for him to love him. I think it's just me he doesn't love."

Cleo squinted and shook her head. "Somethin' ain't right about this."

Eliza sniffed and watched Isaac walk about the room, kneeling to look closely at the cracks in the wood grain of the floor, continuing in soft unintelligible song to himself every now and then. "He just thinks so little of himself, it breaks my heart. He once told me he thinks all the good in Isaac came from me."

Cleo scoffed. "Well, there you go! He thinks the world of you, Eliza!"

Eliza stilled. She'd only ever thought of the comment in the negative, viewing what it meant he thought of himself, rather than of her. She slowly shook her head and wrinkled her nose. "No, it's not the same thing. I want more than that. I want more than just to be…just someone he thinks highly of."

Cleo groaned and rubbed her temple.

"But beggars can't be choosers, right?" Eliza huffed and laughed in spite of herself, shrugging and letting her arms fall. "It's just, I fall so hard for him when he comes home. And he's so so good to us. And I just feel like there's a chance, that he might really truly love me. And every time he leaves and I'm left so alone for so long and hurtin', it makes me second guess everything all over again." She looked at her, her eyes filling, and wrinkled her nose again, tighter than before. "I don't wanna be pathetic, Cleo. I don't wanna be that woman who thinks there's more between us than there really is, and it turns out to be nothin' but a self-conjured trick of the eye, a fool's hope. I don't wanna be pinin' after a man who just can't find it—love, I mean real love—in his heart to give me. Either he has it, or he doesn't. I can't make it be there." Her eyes filled as she sniffed and looked down. "I try to…put myself in his place. And when it comes right down to it, what's he got to gain by loving me? I mean, I'm just a girl, I'm just…" she looked back up at her and gave a little shrug, her chin trembling, "me."

Cleo slowly wagged her head. "You just got through tellin' me how you love him just because he's him. That's what love is, Eliza. No one's supposed to have to prove their worth to anyone, not when it comes to love."

Eliza sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, blinking and shrugging. "Of course, I don't want to pile him with things like this when he gets home, so…here I am." She shook her head. "I don't really ever ask him to stay. It's not like he could change it anyway."

"Why not?" Cleo squinted at her. "You've given him a child, another that you lost. Even your heart, which you didn't have to give. Why not? Why can't he change it for you?"

"It's just…" Eliza sniffed and swayed.

"It's wrong of him to leave, and it's wrong of you to let him," Cleo said quietly.

"I know." Eliza looked down.

"Why can't he change it for you?"

Eliza went still. "Actually, I don't know, exactly." She wiped her cheek and shrugged. "He's always runnin' from the law. He can't rightly stay in one place. He'd get caught. Which I told you, it's one of my biggest fears—"

"I know…" Cleo quietly sighed. "I just don't see why the three of you couldn't get good and lost, if it came to it. It's a big country. Hit the breeze, ya know?"

"I tried to bring it up last time he was home." She wagged her head. "He's so smart, Cleo. He's _so _smart. He doesn't know it, doesn't believe it, but he is. And he's seen some of the worst. And maybe if he thinks ill would befall us," she shrugged one shoulder to her cheek, her brows pulling up, "well then, maybe—"

"You gotta start gettin' better answers," she shook her head.

"I know it," Eliza said quietly as she bowed her head. She finally lifted her eyes back up. "Like I said, I don't wanna nag him. I can't lose him, Cleo."

"Didn't he tell you he'd always come back?"

She nodded. "What I really mean is pushing him away." She licked her lips and shook her head, nearly covering her face in her hands. "I don't know… What would you do?"

"Ah…" Cleo sighed. "I'm the last one you want advice from." She looked off in the corner for a long while. "Celtic souls…" she wagged her head. "You know what I'd give for that? I mean, most of us—people, I mean—we go our whole lives thinkin' things like that just don't exist." She finally looked back at her and met her eyes. "If I ever found mine, there wouldn't be nothin' on heaven or earth could keep me from 'em."

.

"Hold onto hope if you got it.

Don't let it go for nobody.

They say that dreamin' is free,

But I wouldn't care what it cost me."

\- Paramore, "26"

.

At Camp

"My god." Hosea sat stock still with his brows lifted, nearly teetering on the crate.

"Yeah." Arthur briefly rubbed the side of his chin with his thumb, watching his reaction forlornly.

"And you… And they…"

"Yeah," he sighed.

"Jesus." Hosea slowly shook his head.

Arthur leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "You know she let me sit beside her and watch as she nursed him while he was itty bitty? Can you believe that?" He looked up at him for a moment, trying to chuckle, and looked back at the ground. "In the quiet, just the three of us. All we could hear was his breathin'. Trusted me. Kept me in the room, kept me by her side. Like…like I was meant to be there. Like we were longtime lovers, or…husband and wife. Like…" He reached up for his phantom hat, and when he remembered where it was, he instead raked his hand through his hair. "Like I was his father."

Hosea turned and looked at him with a smirk. "I've got news for you, Arthur…"

Arthur's eyes popped up at him. "You know what I mean."

"You've told me all about your time with them," Hosea said. "Now tell me how it is you feel about 'em."

"What?" Arthur's brows furrowed.

"Arthur, you're a smart kid. You're bright, handsome, and capable. You know what I like to say about you: 'course but competent.' But knockin' up a civvie…" he gave his head a single shake, squinting sourly at him. "Well, it's probably the most irresponsible thing you've ever done. Throwin' your weight around like you—"

"Well, just hold on now—"

"I wasn't finished."

Arthur sat back against the crates and swallowed.

"Now I've never said this to ya, because I don't imagine you need me to. You've always carried your fair weight of things and more. And you've always had an aversion to airing your feelings. Well now, right here and now, I'm going to require it of you."

"I don't want to," he mumbled.

"You're—"

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Because what good would it do, huh?" he sat up and strained in a harried whisper, his brows knotted tight together. "What good would it be for me to tell you he might as well be the sun, moon, and stars!" He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, craning his face up to him. "That he looks at me like I'm heaven itself! That he's helpless and needy and fragile, but all he's ever had to do was _exist_, and I was a goner, I was wrapped around his tiny little finger!" He looked down and away. "But really, all he is is his mother," he huffed, lifting a hand and dropping it as he pressed the fingers of his other hand to his forehead, "bottled up in the form of a perfect dewdrop," he chuckled sardonically. "And she…she's…well, she's…" he swallowed, growing quiet, "like honey on a hot day. Sweet and soft and warm…just who she is. She's got no pretense to her. Gives herself just exactly how she is. And the way she loves him, it's like nothin' I've ever seen. Got eyes like gemstones and a heart to match. Smile that makes my knees wanna buckle out from under me." He closed his eyes and turned his face away. "Her skin melts into mine, and I swear to _god_, I could want for nothin'."

Arthur sat in the quiet for a moment, and he finally turned back to see Hosea steadily eyeing him. "But it ain't all good, y'know…" Arthur said coolly and sat up straight. "She can have a one-track mind about things. And she'll forgive you—don't matter what you say to her, she'll just forgive you. And she only thinks of everybody else—never herself! And her blonde hair…" he looked down with a half-frown and open palms, "there's so much of it, it just gets everywhere. Just everywhere."

Hosea squinted at him with a subtle smirk and took a hand away from his chin to point at him. "Were you…trying to complain about her?"

Arthur closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh as he slumped forward with his elbows on his knees, wiping both hands down over his face.

Hosea smiled. "Got a good body?"

"Yeah," he huffed a laugh as he pulled his hands away. "Yeah, she…she's got nice long legs, and…" he briefly lifted his brows, "she's soft and round in all the right places. She don't even try." He pulled out a cigarette and eyed it, flirting with the idea of lighting it. "You know she was a maiden when we…when it happened? When we got pregnant with Isaac, I mean." He swallowed hard. "And I walked out on her. Literally. Walked out on her." He turned the cigarette between his two fingers. "I try to imagine the kinda trust it takes for her to…be with me. I mean really, to…open her legs to me." He lifted his eyes, but looked back down before pressing the cigarette between his lips. "Havin' trouble gettin' a good grasp on that kinda trust."

"She loves you." Hosea huffed a single chuckle through his nose with a nod, then a loose shake of his head. "And you're sittin' here. Youth really is wasted on the young." He peered up at him. "You love her?"

Arthur sat up and removed the unlit cigarette, squinting one eye and rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm gettin' damn tired a' that question."

"I can't imagine she's asked you one single solitary time. I know you, Arthur. You probably been gruff and callous with her at times. Poor thing's probably too afraid of what she'll hear."

"So why're you askin'?"

"Because it's a yes or no answer. And I'm willin' to call you on it," he said firmly and simply.

"Why's your nose where it don't belong?" he said in a high pitch, getting slightly louder. "Why you care so damn much?!"

"'Cause if it's a no, well, that makes you a slimy, seething, crafty, backbone-less maggot of a man. Which is just not at all who I raised you to be."

"Hosea…" came the name in a gravelly tone as he rested his elbows on his knees again. "It just ain't that simple."

"Enlighten me then. 'Cause from where I'm sittin', you've got a son, Arthur! A son! His life's only gonna happen once."

"I know," Arthur whispered looking down, his brows knitting together.

"And a bright, sweet, beautiful young woman who loves you."

"I know."

"Loves you deeply. So much, you said, she wanted to have your child again."

"I know!"

"And the truth is, you're head over heels," he dabbed his finger at his face as Arthur looked up at him and pushed himself up from his thigh. "You're in so goddamn deep for her, you couldn't see the top if you tried. Snuck up on ya."

"Naw, naw…" Arthur groaned quietly and half-frowned, quickly shaking his head.

"A woman and child! What more does life have to hand you?!"

"I'm way ahead of you, old man!" he finally snapped. "But it ain't so damn simple, now! I'm in way over my head here!" He sat forward again and fiercely rubbed the back of his neck, finally bringing the same hand flat to the side of his face as he looked away. "Dutch, he…he's got a lot to say on the subject. Says if I cozy up to 'em, I'll be flighty when I'm here, less bold and certain. Too careful. Be checkin' over my shoulder one to many times. Won't be stickin' my neck out on the line. Concerned most with my own survival. And he says it'll risk the lives of the whole gang."

"That's a bit dramatic."

"He calls it 'playin' house.' One foot here in the gang, and one with them. Says I best make a choice. Says to just do one thing or the other, not be two people at once. Says it can only hurt everybody. The gang, and them…"

"And you," Hosea said, catching his eyes. He lifted his brows. "Well, he's got a point there."

Arthur swallowed and nodded. "When I'm here, I wanna be there, and…" he sighed, tilting his head and looking down into his hands, "when I'm there, I…think I probably shouldn't be." He began worrying the tip of the cigarette. "With Mary, I was…young and foolish. Willing to do anything, just to…be the one who…had a claim on her attention. I was hungry for it, hasty. Near rabid. Now, with Eliza, I… It's different. I might me young, but I ain't as foolish. Nowhere near. I know what good is. And she's good. So, so good," he breathed as his face pinched. "Too good for me, Hosea," he shook his head confidently. "Too good for me to have, and…too good to have me."

Hosea sighed and gently shook his head as he held out a hand for the demolished cigarette.

Arthur planted it in his palm and grimaced. "You know what it is we do. The life we lead. Robbin'. Killin'. Even if we don't set out to do it. Even if by accident." He flashed his eyes up at him. "She thinks she knows me, but she can't, can she? Not really." When Hosea didn't answer, he looked away and wagged his head bitterly. "I got no business bein' 'round 'em. Either of 'em. No business. Anyways, it…it's a life that snaps back, sharp and quick. You know that. You know how this is all gonna end for us. We been preparin' for it nearly our whole lives. We've made our bed. I'm doin' my utmost to protect 'em from it. So if I did love her—which I'm _not_ sayin' I do—" he said firmly and slowly, looking up at him and holding up a hand before looking back down and saying softly, "wouldn't matter, would it? Or rather, I might just show it best by stayin' away."

Hosea pinched up his nose sourly. "God, kid. You really can make a mess when you set your mind to it."

"Oh, yeah?" He looked up at him and slowly sat up, taking out another cigarette, lighting it right away, and leaving it between his lips. "'F you're so smart, what is it you would do?"

Hosea's face smoothed, and he smirked as his lids fell half-mast. "You don't wanna hear it. 'Cause I've already done it. With Bessie."

"And how'd that work out for ya?" Arthur mumbled, the cigarette bobbing between his lips.

Hosea scoffed a chuckle and shook his head. "Maybe you oughta be an illusionist. You got a real knack for pulling answers for anything outta nothing."

As he reclined back against the crates, Arthur pulled the cigarette away and studied the glowing embers on the end. "When it comes right down to it, I want what's best for 'em. Even if that means stayin' away, much as possible."

Hosea strained and sighed as he stood. "Only you can leave a person feelin' worse after a talk, when all they wanted was to make you feel better."

"Sorry to disappoint ya," he said with a higher pitch for emphasis on the word 'disappoint' as Hosea walked away.

But just as soon, he turned back. "Oh, Arthur," he said, causing him to look up. "Where's your hat?"

Arthur looked upwards and caught himself, ducking gently and looking away. At his reaction, Hosea released and chuckle and shook his head, walking back to his tent.

* * *

.

"I can't seem to shake it yet, feeling that

Things may never change.

It always breaks my heart when broken parts

Ache to heal again.

.

So I will write it down, all the jagged edges

The ugliness I've seen

Until I change the truth, rearrange the letters

For beauty underneath.

.

Dear Hope,

If you can hear me, don't go.

I don't feel you now, but I know you're there.

Dear Hope,

I could really use you now.

Throw me a rope.

Throw me a rope.

Dear Hope."

\- Sara Bareilles, "Dear Hope"

you tu . be / q1ibAPFcRq4?t=39


	27. 27

Arthur slowed Boadicea to a trot and took a deep breath as he approached the homestead a couple months after his last visit, his longest visit. He felt his breath snag, and he tried not to dwell on the realization that something in him was hesitant, uneasy. He focused on the sound the overgrowth made as it was trodden underfoot instead, the sensation shifting as Boadicea's hooves met the soft dirt path just beyond the gate. The mare's steps trickled away, and she stopped before ever reaching the hitching post, lazily dropping her head to graze on the lush green pasture grass, knowing full well where she was: home, as far as she was concerned.

"Come on now, girl," he mumbled quietly, looking down and tucking his heels in, gently goading her forward with his spurs. But she paid him no mind. He huffed an incredulous laugh. She was a well-trained, reliable companion. Never before had she shown him this behavior. It was like she'd already begun reveling in her time off. Complacent. She knew where in the world she was spoiled.

He looked up when he heard the front door swing open. He tried to rein in the bucking bronco in his chest, but it seemed just as deaf, reluctant, and ornery as Boadicea at the moment.

There she stood, her golden waves pinned half-up, her mouth pulled wide in a bright smile. His Eliza.

As she stepped into the sunlight, he saw she was wearing a bright burgundy gown, slightly faded around the shoulders. He was just glad she wasn't in black.

He smirked and looked down before glancing back up to see her already rushing down the porch steps. "Hey there, Freckles." He hopped down just in time for her to collide with him, her arms wrapping tight around his neck. She held him for a long while, and he closed his eyes and breathed in the soft floral scent of her.

She drew back just a bit, and he laughed as she placed a few tiny pecks across his cheeks before tucking her chin into the crook of his other shoulder.

"Won't you hold me? It's been so long," he heard her quiet muffled words beside his ear.

"Couple months."

"Couple days is too long."

He smiled and brought his hand gently to the back of her head. As she slipped her arm under his, placing a hand to his back and drawing him closer and tighter, he let himself relish the feeling. He heard her take what sounded like a pained breath and pulled back to look at her. "Hey, you all right?" But she was smiling so. As she pulled her arms up from their place around him to rest her hands on his chest, he watched her do a little bounce, and it reminded him of what he'd seen Isaac do in the crib when he'd come in to wake him up.

"Freckles?" she smiled bright. "That's a new one."

"Just missed 'em." He looked down at her nose with a grin. He looked back up into her eyes and swallowed. "D-did you…miss your…" he motioned to her belly. "A-are you…?"

Though her smile softened a bit, she shook her head without frowning.

He nodded and looked down. He turned and went into his saddlebag. "Either way, brought you this."

Eliza took the small brown bottle he handed her and turned it, eyeing the viscous liquid inside as she read the label. "'Nutritional supplement'?"

He nodded.

"Well, we'll take it every day," she smiled.

"I'm not sure Isaac can take it. Was really meant for you."

"Oh… Thank you."

He smiled, and his eyes traveled over her face; but he frowned, and his brows came together when he saw a pink scuff on her chin. "What the hell is this?" He gently brought a finger under her chin to lift it and look at the underside. The scrape was worse underneath, with little scabbed, striated cuts set on the backdrop of a yellowing bruise.

"Nothin'—"

"Who did that to you?"

"No one, Arthur, it's nothin'!" she laughed. "I tripped and fell in the dirt, if you must know! I was lucky you weren't there; you woulda laughed at me—_I_ woulda laughed at me! It wasn't one a' my more graceful moments," she chuckled quietly.

"Yeah, well…" he grumbled. "You oughtta be more careful."

"I could say the same about you—look at you!" she said, gently turning his face and clucking her tongue at the sight of a thin ravine along the top of the high point of his cheek. She traced the edge with her fingertip and flinched a little when he winced. "It'll be another scar," she sighed with a smile. "You're lucky you look just fine in those."

They smiled at each other, and Eliza turned at the sound of labored breathing and whining behind her. There was Isaac in nothing but his cloth diaper, squatting and grabbing onto the porch step, turning and reaching a foot for the next one. When he finally reached the dirt, he ran up to his father barefoot and reached his arms up for him with a smile and a high-pitched little, "Aahh!"

"Aw, there's my bud." He bent and scooped him up, setting him on his hip. When Arthur planted a kiss on his soft cheek, he smiled bright.

"You were supposed to be nappin' on your blankets in the sittin' room…" Eliza smiled at Isaac with a knowing tone.

"Why?" Arthur asked, lifting him slightly again to get his own arm in a better position.

"'Cause I needed some time to get some stuff done around the place."

"I'll get it done for ya."

She looked up at him as she slipped Boadicea a sugar cube and rubbed the velvet place between her nostrils. "Oh, no…you need to rest, Arthur. I'd like you to rest."

"It's no trouble," he chuckled.

As they began to turn to go into the house, she looked back at him. "_Oh…_ Your face," she laughed. "You're a little sun touched." She brought her fingers up to lift some strands of hair dangling on his forehead and smirked. "Come with me."

She took him by the hand and drew him inside. As Arthur stopped just inside the door and removed his satchel and gun belt, she went to the kitchen table. She picked his hat up from the table top and ran a hand over the various little scuff marks in the black leather. After everything, the sight of it did so many things inside of her. It brought deep comfort and made her heart leap all at once. But she was ready for it to go back to the one who gave it such meaning in the first place.

When she turned, he was by her side with Isaac still on his hip. She held it out to him. "Kept it safe and sound for you."

He looked at it and grinned, growing quiet. "Just leave it lie for now. I'll grab it next time I head outdoors."

She smiled and set it back down, stepping close.

Arthur let himself look her right back in the eyes. As she brought her mouth close to his, he felt that bucking bronco again, the sound of each harried stamp of a hoof echoing the pulse of the unruly organ in his chest. She lingered there, hovering close; and he wondered if she knew this power she held over him, what she could do to him, or if she felt it just the same. It was almost like there was an invisible thread that ran from her body to his.

When she closed her eyes and he finally tasted her lips against his, lips that he'd only been able to imagine for the past eight or nine weeks, the bronco began to soothe and breathe easy. Then again, no one he knew could tame a horse as well as Eliza. She was so soft against him, her mouth warm and smooth as hot buttered rum. The deeper they went, the more carried away they got, until he heard the squeak of their lips as she drew her mouth away.

"_Mmm_… Good to be back," he said quietly with a smile and rested his forehead against hers. When he saw that she'd looked down without ever looking him in the eyes again, he grew concerned and followed her face. "What is it?"

"Um, mm…" she mumbled, "I was just…wondering…" she finally brought her eyes up to his, "how long you think you'll stay this time."

He looked down at the floor between them and nodded before looking back up at her. "Hey… Long as I'm here, let's not think about when I have to leave again. Let's just not think about it, huh?"

She tried to force a smile, rather unsuccessfully, at the thought of adding another thing to the list of things she didn't talk about. But when she searched his eyes, she considered how his words meant he must feel—that he didn't enjoy the thought of leaving, and he wanted to enjoy his time with them. At that, a small but genuine smile appeared on her lips, and she nodded.

He smiled and kissed her forehead. He suddenly sniffed and made a face. "Oof…What is that?"

She leaned forward and took a whiff of Isaac. "You're foochy, baby. Time for a change." She reached out her arms for him, but Arthur kept him.

"I can do it."

Her smile went wobbly, and she tried not to laugh. "Really?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"All right." She led him to the bedroom where she had the changing things and spread a thick blanket over the bedspread. She dampened a few washcloths and brought them to the bed along with a wicker laundry hamper in her arm.

"That's a lot," Arthur eyed the washcloths warily as he laid Isaac on his back.

She chuckled. "Sometimes it takes a lot."

"Well, let's just hope this ain't one a' those times." He grinned when he heard her chuckle again. He removed the big clothes pin and peeled open the diaper, and his shoulders relaxed. "Ah, it ain't that bad. Ugh, smells like death though." He covered his nose with his forearm. "How can somethin' so awful come outta somebody sweet as you, kid?"

"I've smelled worse," she smirked as she handed him a washcloth. "You asked for this."

"And I'll handle it just fine." He began trying to wipe him, but Isaac stuck his feet straight up in the air and tried to grab at them. "No—" Arthur sighed. "You have to keep your legs slack for me, bud."

Eliza held out a wooden puzzle box, and Isaac immediately took it, holding it up and fumbling with it while his legs relaxed again.

"Distraction," she smiled at Arthur.

Arthur proceeded to lift one of his legs at a time to wipe him clean. As he did, he heard a quiet little tune come from Isaac, so soft, it must've been to himself.

"_Kah too fow, woo woo fa ahh, uhh abaahh, see fooo…"_

"Is he singin'?" he looked at Eliza.

She smiled and nodded. "He wishes he could talk so bad."

"He don't know it, but he's sure close," he grinned. "It's 'cause you sing to him so much. He's emulatin' you."

Eliza grinned wide.

As Arthur finished and tossed the washcloth and dirty diaper in the hamper, Eliza held out a new diaper cloth and a little round tub with a puff in it.

"Powder," she said.

Arthur slipped the new diaper under him and patted him with the powder before pinning the diaper closed. "There. Look good?"

She nodded.

"We did it, Isaac. Who knew?"

At the sound of his name, Isaac looked past the wooden puzzle at him.

"Let me see here…" Arthur said with a hand on his chin, leaning forward. "I think I gotta count your ribs, make sure you got enough." He pinched him repeatedly, and Isaac smiled and squealed, dropping the puzzle.

Eliza smiled, pulling her knee up and resting her mouth against it as she watched from the head of the bed.

"Let's see… What's under here?" Arthur pulled up his arm and tickled him there, and Isaac giggled in delight, pulling his arm back. Arthur stuck his fingers in his neck, and he giggled again, quickly shrugging tight and recoiling. "Gotta check, kid."

As his giggling faded away to a low, wary sort of groan, Isaac smiled wide and watched his father intently.

Arthur turned the top of the diaper down just a bit, so Isaac's navel showed. "That's about the best button I've ever seen," he said, looking at Eliza. "You ever seen a better one?"

"No, sir," she shook her head confidently with a grin.

"Let's try it out." He bent and blew a big, spurting kiss into his belly.

Isaac screamed and cackled, and both his parents let out a big laugh with him as he writhed and tried to get away. He finally flipped onto his belly and crawled away a few steps. He stood and turned to look back at his father with a bright smile and a twinkle in his eye, groaning deep and wary, his breathing low and still mingled with squeaking laughs. But where he'd stopped crawling, he was now close to the edge of the bed and teetering.

"Oh! He's gonna fall—!" Eliza called out.

As she spoke, Arthur reached out and yanked him gently back to safety by the arm. "Nah, kid, come back here."

As he pulled him back, Isaac continued to giggle, now out of breath. "_Nooo!_"

Arthur smiled. "He likes 'no'," he said to Eliza.

"Oh, he's good at 'no'."

He looked back at Isaac. "You don't want me to count your ribs?"

"No," he said with a bright grin, trying not to laugh.

"You don't want me to check under your arms?"

"No."

Arthur smirked and squinted at him. "You want a spoon a' honey?"

"No."

Both his parents laughed.

"Don't rile him up," Eliza said quietly. "He's supposed to take a nap."

"Why? You still on that?"

"I told you, I need to do some things. Just gardening, and—"

"And I told you I'd do it for ya."

She shook her head. "It's just part of his rhythm, Arthur. He needs a nap."

He sighed. "All right." He left the room and closed the door partway behind him. He stayed and watched as Eliza took him and sat back against the headboard with him on her lap, whispering and cooing to him.

Isaac looked up at her with a big smile and lifted a hand to her neck, turning the knuckles of his curled fingers back and forth.

"No," she smiled, gently bringing his hand away. "No more tickling. It's nap time. Shhh. It's go to sleep time." With their legs stretched straight forward, she took both of his hands in hers so he couldn't fidget and slowly rocked side to side with him. "_Lalalu… Lalalu_…" she sang over him ever so softly. "_Oh, my little sweet little angel. Fold up your wings, close your eyes._"

Arthur smiled at the sight of Isaac already yawning wide, and he realized his earlier session of winding down had been interrupted.

"_And may love be your keeper… Lalalu… Lalalu_…"

A few minutes later he was out cold, and Eliza carefully slipped him off of her and onto the bed, propping pillows all around him. Arthur watched his round belly rise and fall softly in slumber, his left arm curled up near his face.

She came out and left the door cracked behind her.

"Sorry I wound 'im up," he said.

"Oh," she waved a hand. "Are you kiddin'? He loved it!" she whispered. "I didn't mean to make you feel badly. Don't ever feel sorry for makin' 'im smile, Arthur."

He nodded. "I'munna go for a hunt, catch you some things."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded again. "I'll do the gardening for ya when I get back."

When he returned from hunting and walked to the side of the house for a drink from the water pump though, he saw her on her hands and knees in the soft dirt of the garden. He rolled his eyes as he lifted the ladle to his mouth. He watched her begin to stand, but she teetered and faltered.

He immediately dropped the ladle and rushed to her. "Liza!" She stumbled again before he got to her side. "You all right?" He took hold of her elbow and steadied her.

"It's just…I got up too quickly," she tried to laugh. "It's my head. _Ooh_…" She grimaced and held her temple. "I think it's just from workin' in the hot sun so long without water."

Arthur eyed her hand that held her waste to support herself as he began guiding her to the porch. "Told you I'd do that for ya, now," he said sternly, but with a gentle tone.

"Oh, my kerchief," she said.

"I got it." He turned and picked it up. He took her inside and sat her at the kitchen table.

Eliza sat forward with both elbows planted on the table and massaged her temples with her eyes closed. A few seconds later she felt something cool come to her forehead. She opened her eyes and reached up to find a cool, dampened washcloth at her forehead. She looked up to see Arthur holding it there until he was sure she had it.

"Gotta get your temperature to come down."

"Thank you," she tried to smile against the pain.

"Here, drink some water too." He sat a cup in front of her. They heard Isaac rustle awake from the cracked bedroom door, and she moved to get up. "I'll get him," he waved her back down as he went to the bedroom. He came out with Isaac on his hip, who was grinning up at him.

She smiled. "No lovelier sight."

.

Later that evening after she'd bathed Isaac and dressed him in his nightgown, she readied him for bed, but he wouldn't allow himself to be put down. She laid him in his crib, turned the lamp out, and left the room though he was still awake, and he whined and cried. She finally returned to him and picked him up, trying to soothe and sing to him, but he whimpered and groaned. She stayed up with him for another hour, but whenever he would yawn and begin to rub his eyes, he would arch his back and kick to keep himself awake.

"What's goin' on?" Arthur popped his head into Isaac's room, still in his long johns.

"He's fightin' sleep," she said over his crying. "I've tried just about everything. He won't have it tonight."

He sighed. "I told you not to let him nap…"

"It's not that," she said. "He always has a nap. It's just tonight… I think maybe he doesn't want to miss out on you."

Arthur smirked and watched him yawn and rub his eyes, then kick and whine. "All right, enough a' this. Let's try somethin' different. Meet me outside in a couple minutes."

When Eliza brought him outside, Arthur was waiting atop Boadicea in the dark. "Brilliant," she smiled as she lifted him up to him.

"Come on, bud," he grinned as he took him. "Let's have you sit in the saddle, so you get the full effect." He sat him in front of him and brought his hand around to his belly. Isaac tilted his head back for a moment and looked up at him with a smile. Arthur looked back at him and grinned as he gently goaded the mare forward.

"Just gonna ride round the cabin for a bit," he called back to Eliza as she smiled and went back inside. He kept Boadicea's pace steady, and Isaac reached his little hand out for the horn. "Now, we've had just about enough a' you wrestlin' with the devil, boy," he said calmly, his gravelly voice low and warm. "Why're you givin' your mama such a hard time, huh?" He lifted the reins a tad and took the horse around the cabin. "You know you're gonna need to watch out for her." He felt himself frown just a bit. "I…I can't do it. Not all the time, much as I'd like to. You're gonna have to be the man a' the house one day." He shook his head, continuing to talk as they rode around the cabin several times. "I ain't sayin' she can't take care of herself. She's proven she can just fine. Had to, matter of fact. Well…you know what I mean." He looked down and chuckled. "No. You don't. I'm talkin' to a babe. Well, I guess we'll have to have this talk again when you're older." He reached forward and patted Boadicea's neck. "What, nine, ten maybe?"

He watched Isaac's hands fall off the horn, and his eyelids began to droop. "Yeah…just what I thought," he smiled. "A horse's rhythm's gonna put ya right to sleep."

Isaac opened his eyes again and looked around, as if knowing what he'd said.

"Shh-shh," Arthur whispered. He slowed Boadicea's pace even further, til it was smooth and lazy. He watched Isaac begin to slump back against him and listened to the sounds of his yawn and his lips smacking together. "You like songs, huh? I ain't as good as your mama. Nowhere near," he grinned. "But let's see what I got for ya…" He thought for a while, but finally came up with one. He kept his voice low and quiet. "_I'm a deep water sailor just come from Hong Kong, give me some whiskey, I'll sing you a song. Way, hey, blow the man down…_" As he came around to the front of the house again, Eliza was standing on the porch with her arms wrapped around her. "_Give me some time to blow the man down…_"

"Arthur!" she whispered. "Isn't that about a ship capsizing?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "Cleanest song I know."

She laughed and shook her head.

They looked down at Isaac. By then, he was a lump on a log, his head slumped to the side as he leaned back against his father.

"Poor little thing," she chuckled as Arthur carefully passed him to her. "He was _so_ sleepy." She looked up at him, her eyes brightly gleaming as she rested Isaac's head on her shoulder. "Thank you, Arthur."

He grinned and nodded. "Happy to do it."

He stabled Boadicea in the barn and went to stand at the corral fence, resting his forearms across the top. A while later, Eliza appeared beside him in her nightgown.

"You stargazin'?" she asked.

"Hm? Oh, I didn't notice 'em."

"You weren't lookin' at the stars?" she laughed. "How could you miss 'em?"

He looked up at the spread of glittering pinpricks of light and chuckled. He could always count on Eliza to point them out.

She smiled and crossed her forearms along the top of the fence, just like he was doing. "Long day." She listened to him huff a laugh in response. "Wish you'd rest when you get here."

"Lot to get done."

She met his eyes in the moonlight as he looked at her. "I usually have a hold on things, Arthur. Today was just an off day."

"I don't doubt it. Really. I don't, Liza." He shook his head. "And I didn't mean to say I had to pick up the slack." He smirked at her. "Now if I ain't allowed to apologize for makin' Isaac smile, you ain't allowed to think I feel that way."

She smiled and rested her chin on her forearm. "Deal." When he grinned and brought his arm up, she slipped under and into his chest as he brought his arm back around her to the fence. "Still wish you'd rest."

Arthur began to let out huffed little laughs—a few here and there, then they'd fade, and a few more spontaneously emerged.

"What?" she turned her head to look up him. She grinned wide and shook her head as he continued his delirious little laughs. "You are so tired." She ran a hand onto his chest. "Let's get you outta these long johns, huh? Get you into a bath."

He let out a low whine as his brows pulled up. "I just don't think I have it in me tonight, darlin'—"

"No, Arthur, I mean a real bath, just a bath!" she laughed. "Come on. I'll start one up for you."

He followed her inside to the bedroom and began removing his clothes as she prepared the water; by the time she was finished, it was steaming. He slipped into it and let out a long sigh.

"There's that smile," she grinned. "Same one Isaac has every time he gets into a bath."

He smirked as she bent and kissed him on the temple. He watched her brush her hair and rub balm into her hands, quiet routines that he found such peace and comfort in these days.

.

In the middle of the night when they were both lying in bed in their nightclothes, Arthur was sound asleep on his belly with one leg bent up like a gecko while Eliza tossed a little. He finally woke, opening his eyes and looking over at her.

"Did I wake you?" she whispered as he turned onto his side towards her. She started getting up. "I'll go lie on the sofa—"

"Naw, no," he shook his head, catching her wrist. "What're you thinkin' of?"

She relaxed back into the mattress beside him.

"You havin' trouble sleepin' again?" he asked quietly.

She nodded slowly and forlornly.

He watched her turn, and with her back towards him, she pulled something from under her pillow and looked down at it in her hands. He reached over her to the bedside table and turned the kerosene lamp on. "What you got there?"

She turned slightly onto her back, though he was close enough that she ran into him before meeting the mattress, and revealed the tiny cream-colored crocheted bootie in her hand. "I only got so far as makin' the one…" She ran her fingers along the outside of the soft yarn rim.

Propped up on his elbow, he held his head in his hand. "You wanna talk about her?" He watched her frown deeply as a single tear slowly dripped down her smooth cheek, catching the lamplight. He felt his throat tighten and felt himself frown with her. He was being forced to know it more and more, that he didn't think anything in the world could hurt him more than watching her cry.

She stared at the bootie and finally opened her mouth, her small voice all she could manage for the moment. "What's there to talk about?"

His chest wanted to crumple like newspaper at the words, at the thought that unlike his son, hers was a life that had never seen the sunlight.

"Hope was just that… A hope." She swallowed hard. "'Only fools…'" She shook her head as she took a breath to steady herself. "I was told a long time ago that only fools hold onto hope. Guess it's been tacked up in my head these days." She gave her head one more shake as she watched the yarn give and sway easily under her fingertips. "Thing is…part of me wants to be so angry. To burn this and say, 'Hopes are worth nothin' in and of themselves, mean nothin' if you don't get what you're hoping for in the end.' But I know that's just makin' it all about me." She licked her lips as her brows drew up. "And more than anything, all I want is for her to know she meant something to someone." She sniffed. "Because she did. She really did."

He brought his right hand up to feel the soft stitches of the bootie.

"Isaac is all the treasure I could ask for," she smiled, her chin trembling. She finally looked over at him and met his eyes as another tear fell towards the mattress. "Do you think she's up there, Arthur? In heaven, waitin' for us?"

He was caught off guard, and he wished his mind didn't go as stiff as it did. _For you, maybe_, he thought first. And then,_ I don't know what I think._ Finally, he managed a broken nod as he blinked slowly.

She nodded and struggled to smile again. "She'll just have it before we do," she whispered to herself and took another breath. "That's what I'll set my hopes on then," she looked at him and sincerely smiled through the tears in her eyes, bringing her hand lightly to his cheek, "and say no more about it."

Arthur watched her turn, close her eyes, and press the bootie tightly to her lips before placing it in the drawer of the side table and closing it. And he surprised himself when he wanted to see it again, the only proof besides their aching that she'd ever existed.

With his head still propped up, he lowered his mouth and gently kissed the exposed skin of her shoulder. "You were made to be a mother."

She turned and looked him steadily in the eyes. "You were made to be a father."

He smirked and breathed a soft chuckle through his nose, resting his forehead against her temple. "Only you think so."

"Because only I see you."

He swallowed as she kissed him once on the lips. He watched her as she brought her hand over his forearm, turned to rest her cheek on the pillow and closed her eyes; and he could still feel her ache, like being bruised all to hell, but on the inside. He softly kissed behind her ear and brought his left arm under her neck before dropping his head beside hers on the pillow. Slipping his arm under hers, he rested his hand lightly atop her abdomen and folded his legs in flush against hers so they were almost stacked together. He nestled in close, so close that most of the bed was left empty behind him.


	28. 28

When he returned a couple months later, one morning a couple days into his visit Arthur and Eliza found themselves lying side by side, bare in each other's arms, still kissing, still cooling from the warmth that had spread through them just minutes before.

"That a fair way to say good mornin'?" he mumbled into her smile.

"Mmmm… Who needs coffee?" she whispered.

"'Parently not us." His smile brightened when he heard her chuckle. As he looked at her, he was reminded of the sight he'd seen when he'd first opened his eyes: her bright gaze and soft grin as she looked back at him from the next pillow.

.

When she'd come close and kissed him on the lips and neck, his mind had drifted to thinking it was unfair of her to be that beautiful, that she should be considered the criminal of the two of them. She was even more beautiful and appealing to him now than when they'd first met, somehow.

She tugged him by the collar of his long-johns under the covers with her, mumbling a giggle at the strained noise he'd made as she began fiddling with the buttons and working it off in the morning light that filtered through the striped sheet.

"Might as well just quit wearin' long-johns around you," he said with a smirk.

"They _are_ a real obstacle," she chuckled.

He pushed her nightgown up and off, finally bringing his arm up, folding the sheet down, and listening to her laugh as he tossed the nightgown and long-johns away.

.

He kissed her again as the memory of her tinkling laughter filled his mind.

Eliza brought her hands up and gently gripped both sides of his broad back. She closed her eyes and sighed at the feeling of his big hands still wandering over her body, her chest, her waist, her hips. She let her head roll to the side as his lips traveled down to the crook of her neck. Only too well could she remember that he hadn't always been so keen to cozy up after lovemaking; these days it seemed it was all he wanted to do.

She listened to the quiet sounds their lips made as they met and parted and felt his legs beside hers as she softly brushed her thighs together, bringing her ankle up to touch her other calf. The sensations brought her back to just a bit ago, when she was lying atop his chest, and he'd abruptly turned her over to face the other way while they were kissing.

.

With his chin over her shoulder, he'd brought his right hand up and traced her neck. They both watched as he slowly brought his hand over her shoulder, her breasts, and across her abdomen. He kissed the corner of her mouth as she felt his hand venture further down between her thighs and felt just how eager he was behind her. When she realized he hadn't ever meant for her to turn back around, she reached and pulled the sheet up over her until it was up to her chin.

He paused and pulled the sheet off and away.

She pulled it up again.

His brows briefly came together. "Why're you doin' that?"

"Well…if we're gonna do it like this, I don't want you to see me. Not this time. Not _while_ we're…"

When he took her meaning, he almost laughed. "Honey, I see you _every_ time!"

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Even when we're the other way, and your face is close to mine?"

"Yes!" he chuckled.

As she looked into his eyes, she could feel a grin slowly creep up across her mouth, and she removed the sheet for the final time. She brought her hand up to his jaw, kissed him deeply, and let him continue exactly as they were.

.

At the moment they were lying side by side, face to face, and he was playing with the hair dangling near her cheek. And as she looked into his eyes and felt him beside her, she let herself think on the fact that she was thankful for such moments. That after losing their baby, she'd needed to know they could go back to something resembling normal, or what they'd come to know as normal. That they could still have this—being eye to eye and skin to skin. And she was grateful to know he didn't have it in his heart to withhold it from her.

She grinned at the smacking, clicking sounds of each brief kiss he planted on her mouth. "I have a surprise for you," she whispered between kisses.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hmm," she hummed. She moved to get up, and he caught her by the wrist, holding her hand to him and causing her to look back from where she sat on the edge of the bed.

"I don't like surprises," he grumbled with an arch to his brow. "What kinda surprise?"

Eliza grinned at the sight of his wry expression, somehow charming on his handsome face. She flattened her palm against him, slowly bringing her hand through the hair on his bare chest as she leaned forward to place a kiss to his lips. "Wait right there."

Arthur propped his head up against the bed's headboard and lazily grinned as she sat up again, and he let his hand glide slowly down her back as she stood. He watched her swing the pale blue button-down he'd given her around her shoulders, slipping her arms through the sleeves and completely neglecting to fasten the buttons before opening the door. He tried to keep from laughing as he watched her hug the bit of wall between the bedroom door and Isaac's door, looking down and taking a big step to avoid a piece of the floor that she knew was notorious for creaking and would undoubtedly wake Isaac. He smiled when she began softly singing and humming to herself as she disappeared from his view for a moment when she went into the kitchen.

His smile softened when his thoughts strayed to just how well he knew her now, knew that she was always singing or humming, almost every free moment, that you could hardly get her to stop. Knew her to do silly, absentminded, useless things like don a single piece of open clothing to go out into the kitchen when no one but himself was around to see her nakedness. Knew her as one to constantly be thinking of everyone else, not just in thought, but in deed—like keeping from waking the baby. Like going out of her way to conjure some kind of 'surprise' for himself.

_You're head over heels. Snuck up on ya_, he heard Hosea's words again; and he cleared his throat.

She came into his view again when she reached up and pulled something down from the cabinet before turning around to come back to the bedroom, avoiding the same spot in the floor. She walked up to him with a rectangular little gray metal tin and unlatched it as she began to get into the bed.

He took one of the bottom corners of the shirt's fabric between his fingers. "Take this off before you come into bed, huh?"

Stopping short, she smirked and shrugged the shirt off. With the tin still in her hands, she climbed into the bed and scooted toward him on her knees with the top of the tin still covering the contents. "Close your eyes," she said slowly and quietly with a widening grin, "and open your mouth."

He shot her a very wary and questioning look.

"What, you think I'm gonna give you hot sauce or somethin'?!"

His eyes pulsed wide. "Well, _now_ I do!"

She laughed. "Come on!"

"Eliza…"

"Come on. Just do it."

He smirked but finally closed his eyes and propped his head back. Hesitating, he opened one eye to look at her.

"Don't you trust me?" she said quietly with a smile.

He looked into her eyes, saw her sweet smile, and knew she had him. Trying to keep from grinning, he closed both eyes. "This is ridiculous, you know that," he drawled before letting his mouth hang open a bit.

"You won't think so in a minute." She chuckled. "At least, I hope you won't."

Eliza pinched off a bit of what she'd made and dropped it between his lips. She watched him chew it, and smiled when he began mumbling satisfaction and sat up, immediately taking the tin from her.

"Peach cobbler," she said.

He hurriedly picked off some more and took a bite. As soon as he did, he closed his eyes and moaned a sigh. "It's so good."

"I'm glad. Picked the ripest peaches I could reach a few days ago, and they only got riper. I was glad when you showed up, so I could make it for you."

"When did you find time to bake this?" He was uninterested in having a fork, diving right in with his fingers.

"Yesterday. While you were out huntin' and muckin' the barn. Made a blackberry pie for Isaac too."

He looked up at her as she continued to quietly gab, his hand slowly dropping from his mouth.

"You have no idea how long it took me to pick all the berries," she laughed.

His brows drew up. "Bla…blackberry pie?" he said softly and slowly, almost whining. "Can I have some a' that?"

"'Course," she laughed. "Once we wake Isaac. I just have to warm it a bit."

He licked his thumb and forefinger as he looked at her and slowly grinned. He reached up and brushed some of her hair away from her forehead with the backs of his curled fingers, setting the tin down on top of the sheet. "Turn around."

"Hm? Why?"

"I did what you asked," he laughed.

Eliza chuckled and turned around for him, sitting with her legs criss-cross. She heard him go into the drawer of the bedside table and felt his fingers gently comb through the hair at her scalp, and she closed her eyes. He was sectioning parts of her hair, and she smiled when she realized with pleasant surprise that he was braiding it. As he came to the end of her hair, he tied it with her faint blue satin ribbon and brought it around to lie in front of her shoulder. When she felt him kiss her shoulder and continue to kiss down her back, she opened her eyes and glanced to the side to see the tin of peach cobbler still sitting on the bed.

"You forgot the cobbler," she said.

"Didn't forget nothin'," Arthur whispered, bringing both palms to her back and pressing kisses to her skin between his hands. "It can wait." He looked up and watched the apple of her cheek rise as she grinned.

Eliza looked down and took the tail of her new braid in her hand. "It's lovely. Neat, even. Where did you learn to do this?"

"Ah…" he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with a smirk as she turned around to him. "Guess I just figured it out myself. 'Cause I do it on Bo sometimes."

She smiled and placed a peck to his lips. "Figures."

He suddenly kissed her, this time deepening it quickly.

She grabbed a bit of the cobbler from the tin and suddenly pulled back, quickly stuffing it in his mouth. "You better eat some a' that!" she laughed as she watched him lift his eyebrows and munch it down. "You know how hard I…" she couldn't stop chuckling as he inched over top of her and she reclined underneath him, "how hard I worked…on that?"

Grinning, he came close, little pieces of crumble still on his lips; and her chuckling became mumbled when he kissed her again.

She almost brought her hand to his cheek and stopped. "Wait. Wait," she laughed. "I've got pastry on my fingers."

They both looked at her fingertips as she held up her hand: her thumb and two fingers were covered in gooey peach cobbler bits.

She was about to bring a finger to her own mouth when he beat her to it. She watched him clean the tips of each finger with his lips as if they were his own fingers, and her smile slowly softened with a brief swallow. And she wondered if any other man who could be so familiar and comfortable could also get away with what he could—a sometimes façade of distance.

"You like it that much, huh?" she said quietly, beginning to grin again.

A gleam sparkled in his eyes as he looked up into hers. "I like it that much."

He leaned forward and came close. He had his arm underneath her, wrapped around to her back as they kissed. As she brought her arm up and hooked it around his neck, he brought the hand of his arm that was wrapped around her to the side of her shoulder.

When he finally pulled back for a moment, Eliza looked into his eyes and smiled. "It's his birthday today."

His eyes went wide, and he slowly grinned.

She nodded.

"You're tellin' true—today," he leveled his gaze into her eyes.

"Today." She watched a little dazed expression flutter across his face, and she smiled as he looked away and his grin grew. "I didn't know if you'd be here, and you are."

He looked back into her eyes with a bright, full-on smile on his mouth.

She couldn't help but match it as he looked past her shoulder. "I only waited to tell you now 'cause I knew I'd never get you back after that," she chuckled, "and I wanted to have you to myself for a little bit this morning." She waved a hand in front of his eyes and laughed. "But that time's clearly up."

"Blackberry pie for breakfast it is," he said, hefting himself out of bed. "Let's wake him. Get dressed."

Grinning as she watched him begin to dress, Eliza donned her nightgown and quietly slipped to Isaac's room alone. She went to his crib and looked down to see him slumbering peacefully in his diaper, his face turned towards the wall and his closed, relaxed hand up near his cheek. She brought her finger up and traced the outline of his soft neck, bringing her fingertip down over the pudgy creases created by the crook of his underarm. She gently brought her hand down over his smooth belly, watching it rise and fall softly.

Arthur silently appeared at the threshold of Isaac's bedroom and watched Eliza kneel beside the crib with her back to him, reaching through the the bars and taking Isaac's hand between her fingers.

"Two years. It's gone by," she whispered. "I remember," she shook her head. "I remember when she laid you in my arms. All squishy and soft and tiny. You were so angry," she chuckled. "I didn't blame you. For so long, you and me were glued. Musta been a cold, rude awakening, huh? You didn't know what to make of the world. Neither did I." She swallowed. "It was like I…I'd waited for you without knowing it. I was the same me, but somehow you made me something else, something new and good. You were mine, and I was yours. So special, precious beyond measure…my baby. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in all my life," her soft voice broke. "And you came to me. _Me_," she sniffed. "And I promised myself, promised you that no matter what came, we'd get through it together. You and me."

Arthur clenched his jaw and looked down, preparing to leave the doorway.

"And then your daddy came," she whispered.

He stopped stock still with his back against the wall just outside the door. She wasn't breaking their deal, because she wasn't naming him, and Isaac was asleep anyway.

"You wouldn't be here if it weren't for him," she laughed softly. "He came back, and we weren't left alone in the world anymore. And he gave us hope, didn't he? He made life lighter and brighter."

Arthur rested his head back against the wall and looked up, swallowing hard as he heard her take a breath.

"He thinks he ain't part of us. I don't know why. But I know he loves you, Isaac. I know as surely as I know anything. And I know you love him. I just sure hope he knows it. We both do, huh? Yeah…we love him. And I know you love your mama too."

He could hear the smile in her voice.

"And oh, I love you so, Isaac. My sweet, sweet baby boy."

He heard a kissing sound, and then a soft,

"Hi, Mama."

"Hi, baby."

He turned his head and watched her carry him on her hip to the bed to change his diaper. He quietly came into the room and sat on the floor at the end of the bed, with his left side to them.

From his place lying on his back on the bed, Isaac looked over in Arthur's direction as his mother changed him. His face relaxed into a smile when he saw him, and he lifted a hand to wave at him.

Arthur chuckled quietly and waved back.

"There. You're all done," his mother said, patting his thigh.

Eliza smoothed her nightgown over her knees and sat with one leg folded up on the bed and watched Isaac immediately stand and run—as much as a toddler could on the fluffy, unstable surface of a bed—to his father. She nearly laughed when she saw him take a step right off the bed and seamlessly into his father's arms that had come up at the last second, without either of them missing the slightest beat—as if Isaac either thought he could walk on air, or he knew Arthur would catch him.

As the glow of warm morning light fell in ribbons through the curtains, she watched Arthur bring his hand beneath Isaac's underarm and his forearm under his diapered bottom. She listened to him whisper softly to him and couldn't decide if quiet sweet-nothings were what morning hours called for, or if it was simply Arthur's nature. She was ready and willing to accept both explanations.

"Mama made you somethin' real special today," he whispered to him.

"Mama?"

"Mm-hm. You wanna go give her a hug and kiss?"

"Yeah," Isaac smiled bright. When Arthur returned him to a standing position atop the bed, he ran back to his mother. "Mama…" He folded himself in half and plopped his head into her lap, resting his cheek on her bent thigh with a contented smile and dangling his short arms over either side. "Luvoo, Mama."

Eliza smiled and stroked the short, wispy blonde hair at the back of his head, letting her nails lightly scratch his scalp. "Love you, Isaac. So much."

Arthur watched Isaac open his eyes and look back at him with a soft grin as his mother brushed her fingertips through his fine hair. He could feel the simple contentedness radiating from him; and he found himself almost yearning for what he had in that moment—the deep, unconditional, lasting love of a mother. What he was left with was gratefulness that his son had it.

His eyes traveled upward to see Eliza's gaze still fixated on Isaac. She glanced up and looked back again when she saw him looking at her.

"Pie for breakfast?" she said with a smile.

He smirked and gave a single nod.

Anticipating a mess, they left him in just his diaper. Eliza got dressed and met them in the kitchen to find Arthur seated at the table with Isaac in his little cubby chair. She popped the pie into the iron oven, and while it warmed, she pulled a jar of pickle spears down from the cupboard and sat down across from Arthur.

He eyed her as she unclasped it and began to hand one to Isaac. "Has he…had that before?"

She lifted her chin, grinned devilishly, and shook her head as Isaac reached out and took it without hesitation.

"Oh, E_liza_…" Arthur scolded as he sat back in his chair.

They watched Isaac put the end in his mouth and begin to take a bite. His teeth were halfway through it when he squeezed his eyes shut, squished his face up in agonized distress, and slowly retracted the traitorous pickle from his puckered lips. With his mouth hanging open, his head and shoulders shivered like a wet dog; and Eliza lost it, going into hysterical giggles.

Arthur slid a hand over his mouth to hide his burgeoning grin. "That's about as criminal a thing as I've ever done."

With a pained and disgusted expression still on his face, Isaac looked up at his mother and tried to return the pickle to her, but she was too busy cackling. His brows were pinched up as he slowly turned to hand it to Arthur.

"I don't want it, bud," he wheezed a chuckle with his hand up and a shake of his head.

"Blech!" Isaac wagged his head.

"No, don't throw it on the floor!" Eliza laughed, catching the pickle as he began to flick his little wrist back to toss it away to the abyss. "Mama'll eat it!"

"Yucky," he mumbled. "_Poopy_ yucky."

A boisterous laugh rumbled up through her nose, and she covered her mouth. "_Ah!_ Mama's favorite food is _poopy yucky?_"

Arthur watched Isaac nod. "Our son just told you what you fed him is shit…" he drawled with incredulous smirk and an amused nod. "I have to agree. Keep it away from us." He noticed Isaac rolling his tongue against the roof of his mouth in efforts to rid himself of the flavor. Arthur lifted a glass of milk that he'd had ready to go with the pie to his little lips. "Here, have some a' this, babe," he mumbled under his breath as Isaac placed a hand on either side of the glass and began to gulp it down. When he'd had enough, Arthur set it back down and took a sip from his coffee.

"I have a whole jar of 'em right here!" she smiled sweetly, lifting it.

"_Oh_, no!" Isaac wagged his head again. "Poopy yucky."

A truncated little chuckle got stuck in Arthur's nose, and he abruptly set his mug down to avoid spewing. "Don't make him say it again," he laughed. "Bring out the damn pie!"

"Well, come help me get it out of the skillet," she said, getting up.

His brows came together as he stood and went to the counter with her. "How big is it?"

They carefully pried it from the cast-iron skillet and set it on a big plate. Eliza lifted it in the air and began singing as she brought it to the table, and Arthur joined her in song. Isaac smiled big, clapping and bouncing in his chair as he tried to mumble along.

"_For he's a jolly good fellooow…which nobody can deny!_" they finished as Eliza set it on the table and plopped into the chair with a grin.

"It's true, nobody!" she smiled, looking at Isaac and setting her elbow on the tabletop and her cheek on the heel of her hand.

"Happy birthday, Isaac," Arthur leaned forward and brought his hand around to the back of his head, kissing his temple.

As they sat, several seconds went by as Isaac looked at the pie with a blank expression in his doe eyes and looked back at them in silence.

Eliza sat up. "All right, I know the pickle thing was bad," she waved her hand, "but…you don't…like it?"

Arthur noted the slight concern in her eyes. "Well, just…hold on, now," he mumbled, reaching for the pie. "Let's get a look inside. What's inside here, bud?" He tapped the top of the pie until the crust broke, and the warm, rich blackberry filling came oozing out onto the plate.

Isaac's pupils dilated, and his mouth popped into a big smile as he gasped and clenched his fists. "A-bocca… A-bocca… _A-bocca-beeee!_" he shouted, trailing off with a throaty cackle as he trembled violently as if in the midst of a freezing snowstorm.

"Oh my god, look at him!" Eliza smiled.

"He's so excited," Arthur chuckled.

Eliza pushed the plate towards him.

"Well, get in there, bud!" Arthur said.

Isaac stuck his hands in and squeezed his fists before bringing them right to his mouth to devour it, mumbling loud satisfaction. He looked up at his mother, giggling and squeaking incessantly. "Mama." He lifted a fistful of pie filling to her.

"You want mama to eat some?" she smiled.

He nodded with a grin, watching her pinch a piece of crust and eat it. He turned to Arthur and pointed, his pudgy little finger and thumb still covered in bunches of squished berries. "Yoo."

Arthur sat back and lifted his brows. "Well, I ain't messin' around, if this thing's as good as I think it is." He dipped his fingers in, scooped up a bunch of the filling, and took a bite, causing Isaac to throw his head back and laugh.

Isaac again lifted his finger to Arthur and looked at his mother.

"Like that? You want mama to eat it like that?" she said.

He nodded with a smile. "Yeah," he giggled.

She sighed and smirked. "It really must be your birthday, baby boy." She scooped up a bunch of the pie as Arthur continued to munch from his hand.

Arthur watched as she ate it and smirked when some of the gooey blackberries dripped onto her chin and down to her chest. "Don't worry, I'll get the mess off mama later."

"Hm?" She looked down and smiled, beginning to wipe them away.

"Naw, leave 'em there!"

"Arthur, no!" she laughed.

He got up, came around the table to her, and wrapped an arm around her waist, bringing her closer. "Leave 'em there, I _said_…" he grumbled low with a wry smirk, kissing her neck and listening to her laugh as he inched his lips down to pick the blackberries off her skin. As he did, he reached down and grabbed some of the filling, bringing it up and smearing it across what was visible of her chest.

She took in a big gasp through a widening and incredulous smile. "You are in rare form!"

They looked down at the sound of Isaac's giggle and laughed when they saw him excitedly and haphazardly smearing blackberry filling across his own chest and belly, his nose and cheeks covered in it too.

As Eliza grabbed a dampened washcloth to wipe her chest, she glanced up at Arthur's face as he gazed down at Isaac with a grin. She scooped up some pie and quickly plastered it across his face and chin. "Oh-ho-hooo!" she laughed as Isaac cackled and screamed.

Smirking, he shook his head. "You got the drop on me, Eliza. It's hard to do." He began wiping it off and licking his fingers. Glancing down at the few bits of pie left on the plate and seeing Isaac licking his palms, he asked, "What else does he like?"

"Well, let's see…" she looked up. "Baths," she touched her fingers together, "running away from me naked before and after a bath," she laughed. "Oh, he loves drawing with the colors I make him."

"What you mean?" he asked as he cleaned the last of the pie smudged on him.

"I have a roll of parcel paper, and I made these color crayons for him to draw with, out of leftover candle wax and dye or things from outside. See, look." She turned and pulled an old salmon can and a jar of the already-made crayons down from the cupboard. "After I mix the color in the wax, I pour it in a clean one of these, wait for it to cool, pop it out, and cut 'em in long strips for him." She grinned at his subtly flabbergasted expression as he took the jar of crayons in his hand. "Come on, wipe him down, and we'll show you."

She took the jar of crayons and a roll of brown parcel paper from the corner and met them on the floor of the sitting room, where she rolled out the paper and set the open jar down. As she sat with her calves to the side, Isaac got on his hands and knees and immediately dove his little arm into the jar to pull out a yellow crayon. Eliza dumped the rest of the crayons onto the paper and took one up herself.

Arthur watched closely as Isaac scribbled. He would periodically switch from being on his hands and knees to sitting back on his calves or on his bottom. Keeping his chin level with the floor, he would drape his eyelids low and look down at the paper through slivers above his freckled button nose and plump little cheeks and lips. He glanced up at Arthur, picked up another crayon, and handed it to him, immediately going back to scribbling. Arthur smiled, looking down at the purple color. "What do you use for dye?"

"Oh, different things," she said. "Beets, spices, flower petals… The one color I haven't been able to come up with is blue."

"My favorite," he said as he began sketching a pastoral scene.

"Really?" she smiled. "Mine too."

"Which shade?"

"Oh… Like the sky."

He smirked. "But there're plenty a' different blues in the sky. Day and night, dusk and dawn…

Eliza looked up at him and watched him continue to sketch.

"My favorite blue is when the sun is just beginnin' to set," he said, "and it's that place right above the horizon. Right between day and night. Between what you knew, and…what's new. Sorta bright, but somehow sorta quiet. I dunno if I'm makin' any sense…"

Her grin brightened, and she tried to look back down at the paper before her, scribbling a picture along with the two of them. "You're a poet, Arthur."

He glanced up at her and snorted a scoff. "What a piss-poor example of one. Can hardly string a proper sentence together."

"Exactly," she smiled. "From what poetry I've managed to get my hands on, it seems it's more about the feelin' than anything." She watched him look away and go back to drawing, and she knew him well enough to know it was a rare instance of his shyness peeking through. "I told you 'the sky,' and that wasn't good enough for you. You just spoke to me of the different shades of blue in the sky, 'cause unlike most folk, you actually notice 'em." She waited for him to glance back up at her. "You're a poet." She grinned as she watched him finish his sketch. "At least at heart, you are."

He smirked and looked down at the purple crayon in his fingers. "These are genius, Liza. Wonder if I could take a couple of 'em on the road with m—" Just like that, it snapped between his fingers.

"Oh…" she smirked, "they can be pretty brittle. I don't think they'd travel very well."

At that moment Isaac stood and, still crouching, walked over the paper between them, dragging his crayon across it all the while, covering his father's drawing in a jagged scribble.

"Isaac…" she grumbled.

"It's all right," Arthur chuckled.

She grinned. "Well, let's see all our drawings. Lemme see yours…" She cocked her head to look at Arthur's, which was flipped upside-down from her, facing the opposite edge of the paper. It was a calm scene of a peaceful meadow at the foggy foot of a mountain range with a buck lazily grazing in the distance. "You had that stored up in that head of yours? Goodness, wish I'd seen that with you." She looked at it more closely, noting the details of little prairie wildflowers dotted here and there in the long grass. "How did you… In a few minutes and with just a few crayons… It's beautiful," she looked up into his face with a smile. "Of course it is."

"Look. Isaac claimed it as his own," he smirked wryly as he looked down to see Isaac on his knees beside him, scribbling with red crayon near his father's flattened hand and over part of his drawing. They looked over the paper to see his little scribbles everywhere. "Now this is all his artwork. Little mastermind." He chuckled and scrubbed the top of his head. "Let's see yours," he cocked his head to look at Eliza's.

"Oh…no, mine's horrible," she mumbled meekly.

"Well, let's see it!" he said in a high pitch. He took her hand away to see a few squat scribbles of some kind of animals. He slowly grinned. "It's…imaginative."

"Ah! It's no better than the baby's! Worse even! Look at my horse; it looks like a pig!" she laughed.

"A horse?" he spoke flatly and rubbed his neck. "Is that what it is?"

"Oh…!" she put her hands atop her head.

He chuckled. "So you're a lousy artist. You had to have some kinda weakness," he mumbled as he went back to drawing.

"What does that mean?" she eyed him.

"Well, you're a wonderful mother, incredible singer, terrific cook, lucky as _sin_ at cards… Kind, patient, and lovely to boot. So you can't sketch worth a damn," he shrugged. "Was bound to be one weakness you had." He tried to keep from grinning when he heard her scoff. "Well, that and…" he glanced up, "booze."

Her eyes shot wide, and she gasped and guffawed. "Arthur!" she nudged him in the arm and tisked her tongue as he laughed, letting himself be moved back with the push of her hand.

When his chuckle faded, he asked, "Okay, what else does he like?"

She pursed her lips to the side and finally grinned. "He loves animals. You know that."

He nodded and gave a meek little shrug. "I could catch a rabbit…" He watched her grin spread and widen.

Later that afternoon the three of them were outside standing behind a tree, Arthur holding twine that was slung over a branch and focusing on the thatched basket it was attached to, keeping one side up in the air. They'd waited long enough, and finally a little rabbit was nearby, wiggling its nose for the scent of the bait Arthur had left under the basket. When Isaac saw it, he gasped in his mother's arms, and she gently shushed him. Arthur's lip tensed in anticipation as he held the twine tight to keep the basket still. When it finally ventured all the way beneath the basket, Arthur let it drop at just the right moment.

"Ha!" he shouted.

"_Ha!_" Isaac mimicked, hurriedly clapping his hands with a big grin, in a long-awaited release of pent-up excitement.

His parents laughed, and Eliza planted a kiss on Isaac's cheek as Arthur walked over to the basket, sat criss-cross, and scooped the rabbit out from under it and into his lap, looking up at them expectantly.

Isaac slipped down through his mother's hands and slowly walked over, keeping his eyes on the rabbit.

Eliza came and sat across from Arthur. "Do you hunt these?"

"Naw," he threw his head to the side a bit. "Mainly jackrabbits. This is only a little ol' cottontail. Wouldn't be much meat on 'im anyway."

Isaac squatted, and his eyes were glued to the rabbit as Arthur gently pet its head and back with one hand and stroked under its chin and neck with the other. But Isaac wouldn't come any closer.

"Come on, baby, go pet the bunny." Eliza watched him finally plop back on his bottom in the lush green grass, and she lied on her belly, propping her chin up by the heel of her hand and letting her feet sway up in the breeze as her skirt feel about her knees. She reached out and offered it a lettuce leaf and a couple huckleberries. As it munched them, she stroked the rabbit's back, nuzzling it behind the cheek. "See? Just a lil bunny. He likes it."

"Bun?" Isaac pointed at it and looked at his mother.

"Yup, bunny," she smiled and looked up at Arthur. "He's never seen one right up close. They always skitter away. Definitely never touched one before.

"Bungy?" Isaac said.

"Mm-hmm. He's real soft. Wanna try?"

Isaac quickly folded his hands in his lap and pursed his lips.

"He's more scared a' you, Isaac," Arthur grinned.

Eliza brought her hand down to stroke the rabbit's tiny chest. "Ohh, his little heart's beatin' so fast," she looked up at him. She turned and whispered to Isaac, "Come on, you don't wanna miss out; he's so soft! Here, gimme your hand." She took Isaac's hand and gently rested it atop the rabbit's back.

Isaac slowly smiled. "Ah!" He brought his pudgy little fingers up to his own cheeks and quickly brought them both back to the rabbit's back.

"Gentle, baby," Eliza said. "Look at your d—" she swallowed, avoiding meeting Arthur's eyes. "Look at Arthur's hands. See that? Gotta be gentle."

Isaac brought his face in front of the rabbit's and wiggled his own nose, to which his parents quietly chuckled.

Arthur watched Isaac lie on his belly in the grass beside her as the sun illuminated the grass blades and a dragonfly flew low between them before flitting away.

"_John the Rabbit, yes sir, got a mighty habit, yes sir_," Eliza began to sing softly, "_of hoppin' in my garden, yes sir, eatin' up my cabbage, yes sir, my sweet potatoes, yes sir, my fresh tomatoes, yes sir. And if I live, yes sir, to see next fall, yes sir, I ain't gonna have, yes sir, no garden at all._" She brought her cheek close to Isaac's and sang low, "_Noooo siiiiiir_," before kissing him on his soft round cheek and messing his hair.

"Mama…" he smiled brightly and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked up at Arthur and pointed to his mother. "Yoo, yoo!"

"What? You want me to kiss her?" Arthur said.

"Yoo! Yoo, yooo!"

Arthur looked at her and leaned forward. "Well, if the little prince demands it…" He placed a few soft kisses on her lips as she mumbled a little giggle.

A squeal of delight escaped Isaac at the sight before he paused and took in a soft little gasp. "Mama," he called. They both turned to see he was looking at the rabbit and pointing. "Bungy seepee."

"Yup, the bunny's sleeping."

"Is he?" Arthur looked down, his fingertips still deep in its fur.

"Mm-hm," she nodded with a smile. "You put him to sleep."

"Well, look at that."

Still pointing at the rabbit, Isaac looked up at his mother. "Icka up."

"No, we're not gonna wake him up. Well, I guess we sort of are. Bunny's gotta go back home. And you gotta get ready for bed," she ran her nose back and forth across his.

After Arthur released the cottontail and they went inside and had supper, Eliza gave Isaac a bath, and Arthur put him in his diaper. She watched as Arthur held him and again whispered sweet-nothings to him, gently rubbing his hand across his bare back in circles as Isaac yawned.

Eliza went to her room and readied herself for bed. Several minutes later, she returned to Isaac's room to find Arthur lying back on the end of the bed with Isaac atop his chest and his face turned away from her, the both of them fast asleep. She was struck silent in her tracks as she noticed several little things about the scene: Arthur's hand resting gently on Isaac's back, Isaac's dimpled arms dangling in sweet slumber over either side of him, the incredible comparison of the sizes of father and son. She was lucky enough to catch the briefest moment of stirring as Isaac rubbed his nose into the soft flannel fabric of his father's checkered shirt before resting his cheek again on his chest. It was the opposite cheek this time, so she could see both their faces now; and Isaac's cheek was bunched up and squished against his father's broad, warm chest.

She smiled to herself and decided she was just fine sleeping alone tonight. As she turned to go to bed though, she was caught off guard by the painful lump that rose suddenly in her throat and forced her to turn back.

It was the sight of them. How dear they were, how easily they fit together—at peace and at home in each other's company. She thought back over the day—all the little ways Isaac trusted, and all the little ways Arthur cared. In this moment, she tried to take in as much of it as she could—the feather weight of a tiny trusting two-year-old nestled atop the chest of a deeply caring father. No safer place for either of them.

She swallowed and finally returned to her bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and took a deep breath as she was soaked with the weight of it: everything she wanted was sleeping soundly in that room; everything she loved with all her heart.

What she'd thought would be a night alone was cut short when Arthur silently walked into the room. She brought her head up and looked at him, swallowing quickly.

Arthur steadily watched her in the dim light of the dark room. With nothing but the moonlight shining on the back of her head, it was difficult to see her face until his eyes adjusted; but he could see that she'd removed his braid and was sitting completely still on the edge of the bed with her hands resting on either side of her, the outline of the moonlight highlighting her flaxen waves and turning her into a somber sort of little hill. There was no way to know how long she'd been sitting there, but he could almost feel that she was weighed down with something. He simply knew her to be easily piled with heavy thoughts after the sun went down, just as he was prone to be on long rides through the woods and over barren plains. And he knew her tone not to match what she was feeling when she finally opened her mouth.

"I didn't expect you to make it in here tonight," Eliza tried to make the timber of her voice sound light and carefree.

"Oh, we both started stirrin', so I set him in his crib," he said quietly.

She nodded smoothly.

He slowly came and sat beside her on the edge of the bed.

Eliza brought her hand up to his where it rested atop his thigh and studied it. Big hands, with jagged scars and course dark hair. She turned it over and studied his palm. Long, thick, sturdy fingers with rough callouses. But she knew them to protect. She finally slipped her hand into his palm and noticed the comparison in size and color of their hands and fingers. He made hers look slender and delicate, though she didn't feel that way herself. It reminded her not to forget just how big and strong this man was. Reminded her not to forget that he knew the power of intimidation he had over people. Reminded her not to forget that every time without fail, he voluntarily put that away around Isaac and herself. Like a kindly giant. She felt a small smile begin on her mouth at the thought, how silly and childish the words and image were in her mind.

But it was true. To see him around them, one might think he was totally unaware of all the sheer might and physical power he could wield. He simply had no desire. He was gentle and caring with Isaac. And with her… Well, when they made love, he was tender and thoughtful. At least he was recently. She used to really be worried that she was allowing herself to be used by him. But these days he really talked to her, and it lent her hope that he felt something for her.

She turned her hand in his so the back of hers was against his palm. "Two years," she whispered. "Can you believe it?"

He whispered a little scoff with a wag of his head. "Don't seem possible."

"Feels at this rate, he might walk off to get married tomorrow if I blink too many times."

"Oh, Jesus. _God_…" he brought his other hand to the top of his head and let it slide down over his temple. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

She grinned and ran her fingers down into the little pocket his palm made. "You remember when his entire bottom fit right here?" Her smile broadened when she felt him nod beside her. "It wasn't plump and round like it is now. It was actually kinda pointy and wrinkly."

"'Magine it was still inflatin' from bein' folded up so tight." Arthur chuckled and listened to her let out a chuff of air through her teeth. He felt her lightly tap her fingers in his palm and watched her blink softly. He knew she was letting her mind mosey down the path of memories that fluttered before her eyes—some different, some overlapping his own, he was sure. "Remember that high-pitched squeal of a cry he could whip out? Nothin' like it. Haven't heard it in ages. Funny thing is, I remember not bein' able to figure out why I kinda liked it. And even now, I sorta miss it."

"It's because you loved him from the very first moment you laid eyes on him. I saw it."

He watched her turn to him, and he softly grinned.

She turned back to look at their hands. "Everybody only ever saw me as nothin' more than a baby with a baby," she said quietly. "But you never treated me that way."

He opened his hand up more for her and slowly looked up from their hands to her face as she continued.

"Maybe I try to hold him too much these days. He's always wantin' down now, and walkin' around on his own. Studyin' the world around him."

"Nah, you gotta hold him sometimes. While you can. Like you said."

"I kiss those cheeks a hundred times a day, maybe a thousand. And it's still not enough," she smiled to herself. "I know it's silly, but it _feels_ like he's gettin' so tall."

"He is," he nodded.

"Isn't he?!" she looked at him.

"At least compared to what we knew 'im as," he laughed and slightly shook his head with a smooth shrug of one shoulder.

"I can hardly stand it!" she looked down at his grin before looking back down at their hands. They sat in the quiet for a few minutes, and she felt the lump return to her throat. "Lots of people wish for children, and they never ever get them, Arthur."

"I know." He took a deep breath. "I want him to be safe and happy. Don't want him to ever know any pain or sorrow."

At the low tone of his voice, she kept herself from glancing up beside her. "He trusts you implicitly. Without a second thought. Without even a first thought," she chuckled with the last phrase.

"You do too."

She nodded as she traced the many creases of his palm and took a silent breath. "I see you with him, and I just…" Her brows drew up, and she gave her head a gentle shake. "There's so much I wanna say to you, Arthur. But when I finally get you in front of me, I can't seem to…" she forced herself to swallow, "say it."

"I feel the same way."

"Really?" she finally looked up at him and noticed his almost imperceptible nod.

"You usually get around to sayin' it, though," he softly smirked.

She managed to match his smirk. "I say too much; you don't say enough." She watched his grin widen at the remark in a shy and painful way.

"I know." His eyes now adjusted, Arthur watched the moonlight bounce on the wet of her eyes as she looked back down with a smile; and he took a breath, finally deciding to say something. "Would you do somethin' for me?"

She looked back up at him. "Hm?"

"Would you think of yourself now and then?" He watched her eyes dart away. "I mean it. I know it's a big job you've got with the way things are, and I don't know all it is mothers go through. But I mean it. Show yourself kindness."

"I can't."

"Why not?" He heard his tight tone come out more irritated than he'd thought he felt, and he tried to settle down.

"Because, I… You don't understand; I can't."

"Eliza—"

"Because the way I do that is by being around Isaac and _you_."

He watched her shut her eyes tight, and his jaw went rigid.

"You understand now?" she opened her eyes again. She hung her head and said quietly, "I know you want me to be wise, Arthur, but I just can't. I can't be. My heart is only half, and when you come home to us, it's whole."

Still facing her, he swallowed hard and slow, closing his eyes as he let his pulse level out. He opened them again and took a quiet breath. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that to me."

Eliza looked up at him. "Because of the situation we're in, or because you can't stand to be loved?" She was sure she'd said it gently and without a cutting tone, but with the words alone, it hadn't mattered; no sooner had they left her mouth than his head snapped forward, and he nodded. _There I go, saying too much again_, she thought.

Though his throat was tight and pained, Arthur actually felt a smile want to creep onto his mouth. She could always be relied upon to say things just exactly as she felt them. "Both, I guess."

He felt her draw one knee up onto the bed and turn her body to face him, but it wasn't without lots of fidgeting and agitated, sniffled sounds coming from her throat. He turned to see her face crumpled and tears welling in her eyes as she struggled to look up at him.

"Hey…" he whispered, "don't take what I said to heart. You go on and say what you need to say; don't let me stop you." He brought his far hand up and gently took her jaw in his thumb and forefinger. "What is it you need to say to me, honey? Hm?"

She sniffed as her chin trembled. "Remember me," she whispered. "Don't forget me, Arthur."

He felt his brow tense as he took in her face and shook his head, trying to understand. "I told you, I won't ever forget about y—"

"No, I don't mean _about_ me." She looked down as she brought her other hand to the back of his, so she was holding it in both hands. "I'm no fool; I know my place, and I know I don't mean much in the grand scheme a' things. If all this is about anybody, it's Isaac," she nodded and swallowed. "When I really think about it, what I want more than anything, Arthur, what I want even more than your love, is for you to be safe." She slowly shook her head and tried to look up at him, but quickly looked back down. "I think about you all the time, out there… Bleedin' out somewhere, all alone," she sniffed again, her voice strained with the last few words.

He swallowed and realized it was another way he was hurting her, causing her such worry.

"So if I can't have that—your safety—I'll take makin' sure you don't feel alone. That you know you're loved. So when I say, 'Don't forget me,' I mean, I want you to remember both of us." She curled her fingers between his and finally looked him in the eyes, hers glistening in the pale blue moonlight. "I want you to remember that you are a man who has been _truly_ loved."

Her eyes didn't let his budge, and several seconds passed before he finally nodded. "I won't," he managed, his voice leaving him a little louder than her tone had been. "I won't forget you."

Her face crumpled, and she rested her forehead against his temple. "You say that now, but I've made it so easy for you…"

"No. No," he said, his tone having returned to a whisper as he shook his head. "Just the opposite." He closed his eyes and felt her breath against his cheek as she brought one arm across the slope of his shoulders, bringing her other hand up and tracing the line of his jaw.

She drew close and kissed him on the corner of the mouth, beckoning him to turn just and inch. When he did, she placed a couple simple kisses on his lips as she brought her hand down and traced the top of his exposed collarbone. She let her fingertips glide down to the buttons of his shirt, and when she opened a few, she slid her hand past the fabric.

She looked up at him with a soft grin. "No long-johns."

He looked into her round eyes, her eyelashes still a little wet, and smiled.

She looked away shyly, and a little chuckle arose from her throat—with the leftover sniffling, it almost sounded more like a scoff. She turned back and looked into his eyes again. "I know you're trying to look out for me, and…what's more, I'm certain even now that I still ain't terribly good at…this," she whispered. "I always want you to know, Arthur: we don't ever have to do this, if you don't…want…" She leveled her eyes and stuttered a bit, finding she couldn't finish the words.

He looked over face and back up into her eyes. He leaned forward and took her mouth in his, kissing her deep and full. He pulled away only to finish unbuttoning his shirt; but her mouth was on his again as he unbuckled his belt and removed his jeans.

She straddled his thighs and pulled her nightgown up over her head, leaving them naked to each other.

Arthur spent a few extra moments taking in the sight of her skin—the dip between her collarbones, her chest, her breasts and abdomen—all of it completely smooth, save for a few beauty marks sprinkled across her neck and chest. He found it just as soft and warm as it looked when he lifted a hand to her neck and brought her mouth down to meet his again.

Eliza slowly slid down onto his lap, and when she was finally settled there, she couldn't keep from closing her eyes, letting her head loll back, and releasing a low, quivered groan at the blunt abruptness of their union—familiar, but somehow new every time. She opened her eyes when she felt his big hand rubbing soft circles across her back, the same way she'd seen him do to Isaac to soothe and comfort him.

Smiling though her vision blurred just a bit, she brought her head forward again and held his gaze as she lifted a hand to either side of his neck. "I love you, Arthur Morgan."

* * *

.

**Dearest Readers,**

**I hope this isn't boring you yet! I have just a few more chapters in mind before finishing this work and going right into the third and [probably] final work in this series, which I sincerely hope will not disappoint.**

**These are the first fan fics I've ever published, and I can't say enough how thankful I am to all of you who choose to keep reading, and for letting me know your thoughts. It means the world, and it truly is so sweet and encouraging. You are each SO special. Thank you!**

**\- Rosie**


	29. 29

One day while Arthur was away, Eliza wrapped Isaac up, strapped him with his back to hers, and rode into town to meet Mr. Andrews for their monthly outing of passing out goods, meals, and hot coffee to the homeless and vagrants on the corner of Misty Willow's main thoroughfare. She helped Mr. Andrews prepare a number of cold sandwiches and brew the coffee beforehand, and they both stood at the booth at their normal time as a little crowd began to gather.

"Dry deli cuts and cheddar on a buttermilk roll today," Mr. Andrews said to the faces of the men and women who came up to the booth. "But don't let that scare ya; once the hands of Eliza here pass over any food, any food at all, it miraculously transforms into somethin' else entirely." He grinned over at her to his left.

"Oh, stop it!" she laughed with a wave. "Ain't nothin' but a spread I've been tryin' to get right, and workin' on cannin' it. You folks'll just have to tell me if it's any good," she smiled as a woman opened the wax paper and took a bashful bite. Her smile brightened in time with the woman's as she looked up at her with bright eyes. "I guess that's approval."

After they doled out the fresh food and coffee and moved on to canned food, Isaac took his cue to squat, reach into their burlap sack, and walk over to pass his mother can after can.

"Thanks for your patience," she said with a blush to the newest person at the front of the line. "He can only manage to hold one at a time, but it's his favorite part."

"Oh, no patience needed, ma'am," the man said. "Angels can take their sweet time. He just likes helpin' his mama."

She smiled and looked down to rustle Isaac's soft blonde hair before he turned around to go back to the burlap sack. "You do like helpin' mama, don't you?" She turned back with a smile and handed the man a few cans. "Corn, green beans, and salmon."

"Many thanks, Misses," he nodded before turning to leave.

"Oh, I'm not—" she began to shake her head. But he was already on his way. And there was no point anyway.

They'd been there for a couple hours passing things out, and the crowd was beginning to dwindle. They were thinking of starting to pack up, and Eliza was nervous that she hadn't seen one person she'd really been hoping to see today. She rose on her tip-toes to look for him over heads and was disappointed when he wasn't there. When they were finally beginning to pack up the bags and table, she turned to see him slowly walking up with a limp.

"Jedidiah," she smiled.

"How are you today, Miss Eliza?"

"We're doin' just fine; how are you fairin' these days?"

"Eh, you know… Some days better than others," the old man in thread-barren clothes said with a small grin. "Hope I didn't cause you to wait on my account."

"I hoped I'd see you today, but I didn't know if you'd make it," she said. Though she'd never met him before these monthly outings, he'd become a regular. And she didn't know everything about his situation, but she knew he was down on his luck in ways that seemed to crash upon him and keep him down. She bent and held up a sandwich and cans she'd saved for him. "Coffee's cold now, but I brought this from my home." She handed him a red-and-white striped crocheted blanket. "Hope you like it."

"My goodness, it's downright lovely, Miss Eliza," he said as she passed it to him.

"Oh, and I have this for you too." She went into the pocket of her apron and pulled out the little brown bottle, taking his hand and placing it in his palm.

Mr. Andrews eyed the label, reading the words 'Nutritional Supplement' as it passed between them.

When Jedidiah saw it, his scraggly brows knitted together. "I can't take this. I can't take this," the hoarse words arose through his haggard beard as he tried to hand it back to her.

"No, no. I want you to have it," she closed his fingers over the bottle, reassuring him over his syllables of continued protest. "Jedidiah." She'd finally managed to get him to pause and look up at her again. "You need it more than I do." She was arrested by the sight of his entire face crumpling immediately, his deeply wrinkled eyelids completely covering his eyes for a moment.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked back up into hers, they were filled to the brim. He set the other things down on the table and covered her hand with his other one. "Bless you," he said, taking another breath. "_Bless you_."

As he gently shook her closed hand again, nodded, and walked away with all she'd given him, Eliza's vision blurred, and a stinging feeling bloomed in her chest. Though no precise words were in her mind, her emotions were filled with pained empathy—that his circumstances must be so low for him to be so grateful for something so small; and helplessness—that they both knew she'd done the very most she could for him.

Sniffing, she turned and knelt with a lump in her throat. "Isaac. Can I have a hug, baby?" Her voice was more strained and airy than she'd wished. "Mama needs a hug."

He looked up at her and dropped the can he'd been holding, immediately walking over to her with his arms out.

She took him in her arms and pressed her cheek against his, holding the back of his head as he rested his little chin in the crook of her neck. He was perfectly content to let her hold him for a couple minutes; and when she finally let go, she sniffed back her tears and wiped under her eyes.

Mr. Andrews watched her stand and turn back to the table, beginning to clean it and fold up the gingham tablecloth.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked plainly.

She looked at him, and when she realized what he was referring to, she looked back down at the tablecloth in her hands. "I swept the tailor's for Mrs. Michaels the other day—"

"I didn't say _how_. I said _where_," he eyed her. "I don't sell it in my shop."

She continued folding without a word.

"Eliza…" he sighed, his eyebrows pinching up. "You've still got him comin' round?"

She avoided his eyes. "Can't see what the problem is," she said, surprised at her own shortness. "It's a nutritional aid he gave me, isn't it? Shows he cares. But it's only noticeable if you don't write him off right away. Anyways, I…" she swallowed, "I don't see how it's anyone's business but mine. Isaac's and mine." She glanced at him from the side of her eyes with a more disappointed look than she'd first felt capable of as she turned and picked up Isaac, resting him on her hip.

She watched him nod, his head finally sagging as he began loading the bags of leftover cans into his wagon. She sighed, her brows drawing up in regret. "You know how thankful we are to you, Mr. Andrews, for everything. It's just a hard-enough situation as it is, and through all of it, plenty of folks have given me nothin' but gruff for the little they know about it. I've gotten used to having to defend myself, at least in my mind. I'm just not prepared to have to do so with the few people left in the world who know me."

He hefted the last burlap sack into his wagon and turned to her. "I had a little girl once… Don't know if you remember her."

She nodded. "Beth." She took a breath, beginning to fit the pieces of his perspective together. "Oh, please forgive me, Mr. Andrews."

He smirked a painful half-frown. "I watched her suffer and pass from the fever, just like your mama and papa did."

Her eyes began to water just at the mention of them.

"She was the sweetest, gentlest person. Just like you. It's a mean world in lots a' ways. I guess I…just wanna make sure you're all right, Miss Eliza. Taken care of."

"We are," she nodded with a slight smile. "He's a good man. He is."

He tipped his head down. "Beggin' yer pardon, but…if you say so, and if he's so good, it…makes me wonder why he won't stay with ya."

Her smile faltered. "He _is_ a good man, Mr. Andrews. Truly. You don't know him like I do. I don't think anyone does."

He nodded. "Just hope he…knows what a good woman it is that's given him her heart."

She watched as he got up into the wagon seat and drove the horses back to his store. She'd made a habit of pulling herself back to reality and reminding herself that she did know Arthur, that she'd seen his kind and gentle heart firsthand. Seen him run himself ragged to serve them. Seen him take time to listen and understand her. Seen him hold their son and softly pat him to sleep.

But it was true—as well as she believed that she and Arthur knew each other, there were still things they kept hidden. Things like today, what she regularly did with his money. Things like whatever he did when he was away. Things that felt small, but she knew were bigger than she liked to admit. And if she let herself dwell on it too much, it scared her to think that even after everything, she might not really know him, and that maybe he couldn't possibly love her if he didn't really know her. It worried her to think that she was kidding herself, dreaming up more of a something between them than was even possible. When she closed her eyes, she could see the two of them lying together, face to face, and it hurt to think that she still didn't quite know whom it was she was she'd taken into her bed. That Arthur didn't quite know whom it was he touching, whom it was he was watching lose her breath. That he couldn't possibly be wanting to show her with each touch how he loved her. When all she wanted was to truly know him and love him, and for him to deeply know her and love her too.

She guessed it was those fears that kept her from requiring more of him.

"Miss Eliza!" a hasty young voice called her from her daydream.

With Isaac still on her hip, she turned towards the sound to see four little boys running up to her in play clothes and carrying sticks and little pointed wooden planks.

"Miss Eliza!" the oldest one, maybe seven or eight years old, said as he and the others stopped before her in a huff. "Are you and baby Isaac busy right now?"

"No… We were just about to head home. Why?"

"Well, see…" he began to smirk and fidget as he spoke in a hurry. "We're puttin' on a play. _Treasure Island_. Not a real one—just for fun. But we still like to make it as good as we can! And we need a Jim Hawkins. And, well…you see…we're all about the same height. And we need somebody shorter, since Jim is younger. And…we all wanna be the pirates anyways," he shrugged with an airy little laugh. "We were sorta wonderin' if you'd let baby Isaac play Jim for us. He don't need to say the words; we can say 'em for him and pretend. He could wear his own clothes, and even though Jim doesn't wear one, I could give him an eye patch, so he don't feel left out and doesn't cry." He quickly held up a hand. "Of course you could stay and watch."

"Come on, please!" the other boys pressed their hands together and begged.

"You'd be doin' us a huge favor! Ain't a one of us short enough—baby Isaac's perfect for the role!" the first boy said.

Eliza slowly smiled, only then realizing what their strange tricorn hats and wooden apparatuses were meant for. "We'd love to help you. Wouldn't we, Isaac?" she bounced him on her arm.

"Yeah!" he grinned big amidst the excitement of the boys' clapping and whooping, having no idea what he was agreeing to.

"On one condition," she paused them, and they all looked at her. "Nobody's allowed to have swords on the stage at the same time as Isaac." She looked around at them, meeting each of their eyes. "No swords around Isaac at all, okay?"

"Okay!" they said.

"Yeah, that works!"

"It's actually called a _cutlass_," the older boy mumbled as they began leading her to their secret hideout. "But no problem!"

When they all arrived at the little makeshift stage that sat in the grass under the shade of a few trees at the outskirts of town, they directed her to one of two little benches.

"No play is a good play unless you have at least two seats in the audience, even if they aren't filled with people," one of them said.

Eliza quietly obeyed, taking a seat as she set Isaac on his feet in the grass. She watched him slowly and uncertainly follow the other boys behind the stage and the little sheet they had hung for a curtain. She listened to bouts of mumbling and anxious giggles from behind the curtain.

"All right, boys," someone whispered. "We got a real live person this time. Remember all your parts from rehearsal?"

It was another several minutes before the curtain was drawn back, and they announced the commencement of the play with great fanfare. Isaac was gently nudged onto the stage in the very first scene with a black eyepatch strapped over one eye.

"Go on, baby. There ya go," the boy behind the curtain whispered as Isaac walked out to join the pirate who was already onstage and looked around.

Eliza held back a snicker when Isaac immediately flipped the eyepatch up onto his forehead.

"Hi, Mama," he smiled and waved when he saw her.

She grinned and waved her fingers.

The pirate to his left hesitated and cleared his throat. "Me name's Long John Silver, boy!" he proclaimed with the deepest voice he could muster. "And don't you forget it!"

A few minutes later Isaac was whisked away, and a couple other pirates came onstage for a little scuffle scene. When they were nearing the end of it, Isaac was brought back out by the hand, and the oldest boy whispered to the other pirates, "Go put the cutlasses away in the back! Isaac—" he cleared his throat, "I mean, Jim's comin' out for the finale!"

As they all began to sway and dance and sing, Eliza's grin widened. "Oh, it's a musical!" She clapped her hands as Isaac smiled wide, mumbling unintelligibly and loudly above the others, bouncing and stomping his feet—seemingly haphazardly to anybody else, but she knew in his mind, he was stepping right in time with the others.

She laughed outright at the sweet, darling sight. Smiling softly, she slowly looked to her right and imagined Arthur sitting there in the seat beside her, laughing and nodding along. How she wished he could see this.

Before their song was finished, she noticed Isaac stop and stand stock still, hold his breath, clench his eyes tight, and scrunch up his face, his cheeks going bright pink for a moment. "Oh. Um…I think…" she tried to point. She brought her hand up to her mouth and tried not to laugh when the other boys obliviously continued with their song.

After several seconds, Isaac opened his eyes and held his hands out for her. "Mama," he said as he began to walk forward. "Mama."

"Shh," the oldest boy whispered gently, stepping over and kneeling to him as their singing petered off. "Pirates, swashbucklers, and scallywags don't say 'mama,' Isaac." When he got near him though, he suddenly scrunched his nose and made a face. "Oh," he said looking up at her. "I think he's stinky."

"Yeah," she stood and reached out for Isaac as he walked towards her. "That's what I thought." She scooped him up and gently laid him on the grass, going into her satchel for a clean cloth diaper. "Thank you all for the lovely play," she said as she finished changing him. "It was beautiful."

"Beautiful!" the oldest boy took exception with his brows in a twist as he hopped down from the wooden platform. "It ain't supposed to be beautiful; it's supposed to be dastardly!"

"Oh, silly me," she sang with a wry grin as she lifted Isaac onto her hip. "I just thought the sight of all you boys including little Isaac here was downright beautiful." She watched every single one of them smile and shrug bashfully.

"Oh. Yeah… Guess it was kinda nice, wasn't it?" the oldest said. He looked up and stuck his finger into Isaac's little hand. "He's a good baby. A good kid, I mean. Ain't he, fellers?"

"You bet!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Sure is!" they all said.

Eliza's smile brightened, and she planted a big kiss on Isaac's cheek.

.

That Same Week, Further West

Arthur was aware of the flat surface of the back of the butt of his rifle pressing into him as he braced it against his right shoulder. He held his breath while he adjusted his elbow and forearm, knowing a little cloud of dust would arise before his face. He was far from a fan of the dry, flat, arid lands they now roamed and found himself longing for the lush forests, meandering creeks, rolling hills, indigo mountains, and crickets and lightning bugs of Misty Willow.

As he lied belly down in the dirt, one knee bent just a little, he looked down from his spot hidden atop a low mesa over the remains of what, from the looks of it, appeared to be nearly a ghost town, a shell of what it once had been. Each business front looked like nothing more than a plywood stand, every sign like wiped chalk. It was as if the wind had nipped them clean. The town's main street was only sparsely alive, with a few townsfolk dotting the rust-colored dust, walking this way and that.

"You're the best shot among us, Arthur," Hosea said from where he lied to his right. "Best man for the job. Perfect for it, really."

Arthur tilted his head to the right and peered into his scope, nestling his cheek against the wood grain until he felt comfortable.

"Remember what Dutch said," Hosea's nasally voice brought to mind. "Just have to cover him."

Arthur gave the best nod of acknowledgement he could, with his cheek already pinned.

Dutch had planned a discreet first meeting with Bill Doolin, leader of a gang who had found themselves further west than they normally were and were cropping up into the Van der Linde gang's heists and operations more often than was wished. But from the sounds of it, the Doolin gang was a bit more in numbers.

The two gang leaders had agreed to meet out in the open—at least, as open as could be managed on short notice and with the nearest town being as old and near depleted of folk as it was—as a sign of good faith. With Dutch hoping it would lead to further meetings to stake out mutual territory and relations of at least a stand-offish nature, the meeting was arranged. "Discreet" had been explained away by Dutch as "disguised in plain sight, amongst average citizens."

Arthur peered through the scope and shifted the rifle in his hands until he saw Dutch, loitering nonchalantly near the end of a boardwalk. Arthur took a breath and slowly scanned the entirety of the nearby area for Doolin henchmen, making sure to check balconies and the tops of each building for enemy sharpshooters.

His view snagged on a scuffle beginning to emerge between two people in the alley on the opposite end of the building Dutch was loitering near.

"What's goin' on here?" Arthur mumbled, stretching his finger so it hovered over the trigger.

It was a greasy feller beginning to grab at a young woman with fair chestnut hair who was clearly uninterested in and spurning his advances. Arthur rolled his eyes and half-smirked in disgust as he shifted the rifle back. He brought his finger closer to the trigger when he saw a tall gangly feller in a green and black checkered flat cap approach Dutch and stand nearby without looking at him, and the two began to inconspicuously talk.

When he was satisfied it was going relatively well, Arthur shifted his view again to find that the lowlife had thrown the young woman up against the wall and was beginning to rough her up.

"What're you lookin' at?" Hosea asked. When he saw what it was, he added, "You're just supposed to cover him. You of all people hate when anyone has to get hurt."

And he knew Hosea to be telling him that if he were to interfere, it would ruin the entire operation, all of their plans for coexistence with the Doolin gang. Whatever Doolin gang members were in the vicinity would come out of the woodwork, and they'd have an all-out shootout on their hands. Most pressing of all, he would undoubtedly be putting Dutch's life in immediate jeopardy, no matter how well he felt he himself could sweep a shootout from his vantage point. And he knew Hosea was right.

Even so, he felt his pulse quicken and the vein in his neck strain as he watched the scene play out, watched the guy bully and brutalize her as she pushed and tried to fight back. He felt helpless as the guy began to pin her and go after what she'd refused to give him. But he wasn't helpless.

It took everything in him to pull his gaze back to Dutch and Doolin. Things seemed to be going just fine—calm and according to plan.

Arthur felt the edge of the trigger gently graze the second pad of his finger. After a couple minutes and when Hosea looked away, he couldn't help but quickly change his gaze one last time. Almost on cue, Hosea turned his face back again.

"Don't take the shot, Arthur," he said. "Don't take the goddamn shot."

But it was too late. Arthur had seen a sharp flash of metal in the man's fist.

"_He's got a knife_." And that was all the decision-making assistance he required.

It happened so quickly. Arthur took the slightest action with his finger, and the lowlife's head exploded, causing the young woman to jump and sending a red spray all over her face as his limp remains fell to the ground—all in half an instant. For just a moment he watched her stand there, rigid and completely dumbstruck, a traumatized look on her blood-painted face.

"Yeah…but you're alive, lady," Arthur mumbled.

At the sound of gunfire popping off, Arthur hurriedly scanned his scope to the left, his pulse thumbing wildly. He saw Dutch running to duck behind a nearby barrel with his pistol in his hand.

Arthur immediately followed the direction Doolin had gone and shot him dead, quickly moving on to the handful of Doolin gang members and sharpshooters on the nearby rooftops and balconies that had finally shown themselves and scanning the other alley in the process to see the young woman successfully running for her life. At the volley of shots ringing out, the few townsfolk screamed and scurried inside. He continued to pick the enemy gunmen off one by one until the whole place was quiet.

"Jesus, Arthur…" Hosea breathed a sigh.

Arthur brought his scope back to see Dutch alive and without a scrape, but he swallowed when Dutch shot a look of pure contention and disapproval up in his direction at the top of the mesa.

.

Later that evening, Hosea stood outside Dutch's tent to deter eavesdroppers as Dutch and Arthur exchanged words inside. He himself could only catch bits every now and then. Most of it was kept in a relatively even tone, but it was not lost on him how charged the words themselves were.

"…_safety and security of this whole damn thing, all of us, at risk_…"

"_You're the one who always said we gotta help folk…"_

_"…the gang, this family, comes first."_

_"…wasn't about to let an innocent…"_

_"This is about that little girl…_

_"…wasn't…"_

_"…that little hussy, goddamnit."_

_"Quit callin' her that. Told you… Told you she's just a kid who didn't mean to get caught up in this life. And she's damn well payin' the price."_

"_If you… …belong here. …don't make me question your faith, your loyalty, Arthur_…"

Just then Hosea noticed John lingering nearby in the darkness, finishing off a bowl of stew. They made eye contact, and John's brows came together in question. Hosea stepped towards him and swept his arm out, urging him to move along. Hosea resumed his place a step closer to the tent.

"…_lest you forget… …where you came from, where you'd be… You know that. …if you can't get the job done, I'll just have John do it."_

_A pause._

"_A sixteen-year-old kid_."

A longer pause.

"_The gang. comes. first. Arthur_."

Hosea heard the flap of the tent open and watched Arthur leave and walk towards his own tent, only catching a glimpse of his face. Though his jaw was tense and flared, his expression was sullen and stoic.


	30. 30

**I've included a link to an instrumental track, meant to accompany the last scene in this chapter. :)**

* * *

.

One afternoon on Arthur's next visit a couple months later, Eliza hesitated and finally walked up to him when the three of them were outside and Isaac was sitting and playing in the grass.

"Arthur…I know…I know all you got is folks askin' things of you, and I don't wanna be just another person askin' somethin' of you. But I…I need to ask you to do somethin' for me."

"Hm? What is it?"

"Well, I… Come here." She took him by the hand and walked a few steps away from where Isaac played, somehow feeling it would be less demoralizing for Isaac if he didn't overhear their discussion, as if it made a difference. She turned and looked at Arthur. "Isaac's growin' up, you know, he's gettin' on in age. He's a big boy."

Arthur peered at her, trying to follow. "Yeah, okay…" he nodded.

"And I ain't got time. Ain't got the time, these days, to change his nappy…"

"Say what you have to say, woman. Just get straight out with it."

She dropped her shoulders as she looked at him, wishing she didn't have to explain further. She knew he wasn't a simpleton, that this was just another area where parenting was new and foreign to him. She pulled her lips inward, trying not to smile. "I need him to go outside or to the outhouse to do his business. He's plenty smart enough and old enough, and he's walkin' around just fine. I can't keep changin' him."

Arthur's eyes slowly grew wide. "You want me to teach him how to _piss?_" He immediately looked at her from the side of his eyes and chuckled sardonically.

She tried not to chuckle and failed, nibbling her lip and running her hand down her neck. She nodded. "Standin' up."

He opened his mouth and let out a nervous and incredulous "_Ha_," kicking the soil with the toe of his boot.

"Well, you know I love havin' a son, Arthur. But _I_ can't very well teach him! He needs to be taught; every little boy does."

"I don't remember havin' that. I think I figured it out just fine on my own," he mumbled with a chuckle. "_Oohh-ho-ho, god…_" he looked down, shook his head, and rubbed the back of his neck, thinking about actually standing beside his two-year-old son with their nethers out, giving him instruction and direction.

"It'll take routine to get it to stick," she said. "We'll probably need you here for several days."

"Yeah, yeah," he nodded, looking up at her with a wry grin. "Well, if there's one thing I know to do right…" he said turning to walk towards Isaac.

She smiled and folded her arms, bringing one hand up to rest on her neck and watching his backside as he walked away. "Oh, no. That ain't all you do right, cowboy."

Arthur stopped.

"Or should I say lover boy?" he heard her say, and he looked back at her to see her smiling and gnawing the inside of her cheek.

He chuffed and wanted to make a sarcastic jab like _Shut up_, but couldn't bring himself to. Instead he actually felt his neck go warm. He smirked and shook his head as he approached his son. "All right, babe, come on. Let's have us a walk," he said, and Isaac stood. "Your mama says you're a big boy; can you believe that? Well, yeah…I guess you are gettin' there." He tried to walk with him, but Isaac wrapped his arm around his leg and rested his head against his thigh, impeding them from getting very far. Arthur brought his hand around Isaac's head and chuckled. "Here," he let his hand dangle before him.

Isaac looked up and took his hand.

"Let's you and me figure how to help your mama some."

Eliza bit her lip, her heart swelling as she watched them walk hand in hand off towards the wooded portion of the property. "Thank you, Arthur," she said, turning to go back inside.

"Don't mention it," he waved. "_Please_." He smiled when he heard her laugh.

.

When the two of them returned a while later, Eliza was waiting on the porch steps. She stood when she saw them approach.

"Oh, Arthur…look at him!"

Isaac sat on his father's hip with a big grin, the lower half of his face and hands covered in something dark brown and gloopy. She dipped her chin and shook her head. "That isn't…?"

"It ain't shit! Come on, Eliza, gimme more credit than that," he mumbled and squinted at her with a smirk. "After our pissin' lesson—which went just fine, by the way—we walked a ways, and he wanted to make mud pies, so we…made mud pies," he shrugged.

She smiled. "Well, did you have fun at least?"

He looked at Isaac. "I think we did," he smiled softly. "Whatchyou think, bud, you have fun with me?"

"Dama," Isaac mumbled, appearing to have a little trouble forming the syllables.

"What is it, honey?" Eliza said. "What're you tryin'a say?"

"Damma…dammit."

Eliza's eyes went wide.

"No, _no!_ Shush!" Arthur said, gently resting his hand with fingers splayed over Isaac's face.

"Arthur!" Eliza laughed.

Isaac cackled and pulled his face back out of his father's hand. "Dammit!"

"_Shit_," Arthur said low.

"Shee-it!" Isaac giggled.

"Arthur." She leveled her eyes at him.

"Well, he's a cherry-picker, sweetheart!" he rubbed his neck.

"Shee-it," Isaac clapped his hands.

"Oh, god," Arthur drawled and rolled his eyes.

"Gah-damma—"

"_No_," Eliza raised her eyebrows and pointed firmly at Isaac. "Hush, you."

"I'll be…he's got a real knack for that cherry-pickin'," Arthur chuckled. "Come on, little parrot. Go to your mama," he said. As he passed him to her, his eyes met hers, and he couldn't help but let a snicker catch and rumble through his nose, his shoulders scrunching as it did. When he saw the corner of her mouth flicker up, he completely lost it.

Eliza's grin warmed as she watched Arthur snicker and wheeze hysterically, and she couldn't keep from letting out a few mumbled chuckles that jostled her shoulders. Hearing their toddler curse had somehow been both more precious and more hilarious than was good for anybody. "No…no swearing," she chuckled, drawing her lips inward to try to keep from smiling. "He ain't allowed." As he continued to laugh, she tisked her tongue and shook her head. "Oh, Arthur," she chuckled. "What am I gonna do with you?"

He smirked at her and wagged his head.

She couldn't miss the twinkle in his eyes. She wanted to blurt out so many things, like how ridiculously charming he could be without even trying. Like what a wonderful father he was without knowing it. Like fears piling up in the back of her mind about the future. She was all too aware how quickly Isaac was growing, and it excited, terrified, and saddened her all at once. How was she supposed to discipline _and_ nurture a growing boy all on her own? How was she supposed to gain his respect and make him mind when he finally grew to the age that all he had a mind to do was aggravate his mother? She and Arthur both knew every boy went through it at some point. The struggle for authority, the test of wills. She wasn't looking forward to any of it without him by their side.

Most of all, she wanted to ask, how did he expect the two of them to go on living without him? Without that uncanny ability of his to make them giggle and laugh? Without that sly grin? Without that precious gleam in his eyes.

* * *

Later that afternoon as Eliza was preparing lunch in the kitchen, Arthur went to the bedroom in search of one of his pairs of gloves that had gone missing. He scavenged each drawer of the dresser and, coming up with nothing, went to each bedside table.

"Agh, where is it…" he muttered. Still unable to find it, his eye inched to the chest Eliza kept at the foot of the bed. He'd never seen her open it, but she didn't keep it locked either.

He knelt before it and flipped it open, finding clothes, books, and little porcelain knickknacks inside. Nothing of value. He began to gently rummage through it, pushing books to the side and turning over cloth—when he saw it.

Not the glove, but a little bit of off-white material peeking out between two other garments. His eyes snagged on it, and something about it caused him to still, to breathe slowly and quietly. It wasn't shimmery or shiny, but it wasn't flat and dull either; it was something in between. It wasn't crinkling or creasing easily; rather, the fold was softly rounded. As he studied the portion of fabric he could see, he realized the edge closest to him had a small hem on it, as if the end of a sleeve or bottom of a blouse.

It sat staring at him, beckoning him to pull it out further, to discover just what it was.

He slipped his finger beneath it and rubbed his thumb across it—cool and smooth. Finally he gently tugged it out inch by inch.

His heart sank into his stomach like a boulder when he saw it in full, from the neckline to the lower hem. No frills or lace, no buttons or beads. A small slit at the nape of the bodice, its sleeves coming down only to the elbow. Nothing more than a seam just beneath the breasts to act as a high waist. A long skirt that flowed just a little but didn't have any gathering or pleats. It was a simple, dainty, beautiful wedding gown.

Without realizing it, his brows had pinched up. Not the fact that he'd found it, but just the fact that it existed, here, in her room—it presented a whole new deck of challenges, most of which he hadn't even begun to name, much less make out the edges. But they all came rushing unprovoked at him, just the same.

He closed his eyes when he heard Eliza's singing and humming from the kitchen. Turning his face towards the sound, he opened his eyes and sighed.

Pity was one. He pitied her. And it was the last thing he wanted to feel toward her. That they were both in over their heads, but especially her. How wonderful she was and couldn't stop if she tried. How much she deserved, and he wasn't it. How she couldn't get out, couldn't go back. How little she actually knew about what she thought she wanted.

Yearning was another. For a life he knew he could never have, but had always wanted—maybe just as much as she did, if he let himself be honest with himself for a moment. He'd never been afraid of it. A life of commitment, of being someone's, and only theirs. A life of journeying with someone close enough to you that there was never a question or worry of being ridiculed, belittled, or turned away. So close they could live inside your very own skin, and you'd never know the difference. A simple life of giving and receiving love.

But just as well, he knew he didn't deserve it.

And seeing this only reminded him of what he already knew, but it washed over him again: that he himself was the object of her heart's longing; that he was where she had placed her deep trust. He tried not to focus on all that that alone did inside him—it was like a tender and timid plant, still flourishing despite the cracked, barren soil it had taken root in.

As he squatted there hunched over the chest, his hand buried in the soft, cool material, he could see it; he could see it as clearly as the gown before him. He could feel it, something she must've felt herself by now. It was as if the whole world were telling Eliza that she couldn't have this; that she was too young, too naïve. That she was foolish and silly for even thinking it possible.

Out of the whole world, including Eliza, only he knew that it would be possible; if not for all the reasons it couldn't be.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself out of the daydream and was greeted by a moment of slight panic. He didn't want her to find him with it. And he knew he had to find out what was meant by it, why it was here, and address these hopes of hers if it was what he feared; but at the same time, he didn't want to embarrass her.

He slowly folded it and tried to put things back in place in the chest, closing it and standing, before slowly and tentatively walking out into the kitchen.

"Hey, hun," he said quietly, watching her balance on her tip-toes and reach for a plate in the cabinet. "Hun."

"Hm?" she glanced at him before turning with a bowl of food as Isaac grew antsy in his cubby chair at the end of the table.

"Wie hea," Isaac was saying, bouncing and slapping the spot on the table in front of him. "Mama! Mama! Wie hea, Mama. Wie hea, wie hea. Hea, hea, hea. Yeah. Yeah," he nodded firmly as she placed a little bowl of applesauce with a spoon followed closely by a plate of cheese and crackers with a side of blueberries in front of him. "Mmmmmmmm…" he mumbled with a big grin, getting himself so excited that he looked up at her with a mumbled cackle that ended with a squeak.

She watched with a smile as he held the spoon in his fist, close to its neck, and dove into the applesauce. A couple mumbled chuckles arose from her when he tried to scoop the blueberries a few times and failed, finally picking up a blueberry, placing it on the spoon, and sticking the spoon in his mouth.

Still chuckling, she turned to Arthur. "Hm? I'm sorry, you were saying?" she said as she placed another couple plates on the table.

"That chest in there," he rubbed his neck. "In the bedroom. What's…what's in there?"

"Oh, that's just old such and such, handed down through the generations," she said as she reached into the cupboard again for a couple glasses. "What I managed to keep, at least. All that's left on earth of my family. 'Sides Isaac and me," she smiled at him. "Why?"

He followed her with his eyes as she went about the kitchen for a couple more things before joining Isaac at the table. The question hadn't startled her at all.

He briefly lifted his brows and tried to shrug a shoulder. "Aw, I's just wonderin'."

"Come sit with us. Got pork cutlets, summer sausage, cheese, almonds, berries, and apples. And I cut you up a peach," she patted the seat of the chair beside her.

"O-oh, I got things to do: muck the barn, weed the flower bushes… That's why I been, I been lookin' for my work gloves—"

"Grounds work can wait. All month if I care."

He looked up at her as she bit into an apple. Her world was so simple, what she wanted so straightforward. It made him feel as though the struggle and tangled mess were only inside him.

He took a breath and smirked as he came to sit beside her.

* * *

"Fletcher Bay – Instrumental," Harry Pane

you tu . be /LkEWgIsuOuk

* * *

That evening after Arthur had completely given up on getting any grounds work done, the three of them ventured outside to enjoy the trees and the sun as it began to recline from its perch in the sky. When Eliza told them that she'd forgotten her shawl inside, to go on without her and that she'd be back out in a bit, Arthur continued towards the fruit trees with Isaac on his forearm.

He lazily came up to the fig tree that was covered in fruit. When they walked under the leaf-drenched branches, Isaac reached up for something. Arthur noticed something move out of the corner of his eye and saw what it was. He reached up and cupped his hand around it, bringing it down to Isaac.

"Here, you want that?" he said in warm, hushed tones. He opened his big hand to show a hairy black caterpillar crawling across his palm. "Here," he said, bringing his hand close to Isaac's and letting the caterpillar crawl across their fingers. "Look at that," he said quietly. "How 'bout that. He's a fuzzy feller." He watched Isaac's eyes enlarge as they followed the caterpillar in wonder; and when his smile brightened at the feeling of its legs tickling him, Arthur felt himself smile wide. "Like that?"

Isaac took in a sudden breath, released a squeaking giggle, and nodded with a little bounce on his father's arm.

Realizing they didn't have to rush, Arthur continued to bring his hand to either side of Isaac's, keeping the caterpillar from falling as it crawled back and forth over their hands. After a few minutes, he reached up and returned it to the leaf. "Well, he's gotta go home."

"Go?"

"Mm-hmm."

Isaac waved his fingers at the bug. "Bye," he whispered.

Arthur looked down as Isaac looked up at him with a contented grin and rested each of his little hands on his father's cheeks. He watched as Isaac opened his lips and brought his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and he knew he was searching for a consonant.

"Dah," he finally said so simply, the _d_ nice and loud, ringing clearly as a bell. And again, "Dah."

Arthur struggled not to stiffen at the sound, but Isaac's young blue-green eyes wouldn't let him budge. Even as his body was relaxed, he felt every single thing inside his head and chest go rigid, searching for answers to explain it, to wipe it away. Had Eliza told him? But he didn't think she'd go back on her word. Maybe it was nothing more than a syllable, a random noise shaken loose from a toddler's throat. Was it simply the wish of a little boy, that he was doing what he could to make a reality?

As his deep, round little eyes held him steady, the two of them were there, near reflections of each other; and it seemed a moment stretched out a little longer in time, like flour-dusted dough he'd seen Eliza knead and pull on the counter.

Or did he just know? Somehow. Arthur was struggling not to internally scramble for answers: if he did, how had they gotten here? Would every road have lead here? A two-year-old. How could he know?

The most pressing question before him, he knew, was no matter which explanation was to answer for two simple little syllables spoken aloud, would he be okay with it? Could he be. As he looked into his little son's eyes—a son who had so much of both himself and Eliza in him—he knew there was nothing to hold onto; for this moment at least, he had to let go. He had to accept the love his son was offering freely, and ask no more questions.

It was like water to the dry and thirsty plant Eliza had been ministering to so patiently in his chest. The plant he was only recently beginning to notice had been there for so long.

He brought his fingers through his son's soft blonde hair, bringing his palm down to the side of his face. With his fingers still curled over his crown, he brushed his thumb across his temple as he closed his eyes and kissed his forehead, lingering there for several seconds, and kissing him again. Isaac promptly let his head fall onto his father's shoulder, and Arthur ran his hand over his temple and ear. He closed his eyes and let his cheek gently fall to his forehead, listening to him softly breathe. And the two of them were there, needing nothing more from the world, from each other, than to soak in the nearness of the other, to drink it in, sweeter than honey water.

Eliza stood a couple feet to his right and just a little behind him, her heart as full as a sky of twinkling stars. She'd seen all of it, from the moment Isaac reached up for the caterpillar.

She knew Arthur's heart to be big and tender, one that naturally protected the innocent and vulnerable. She also knew him to have a child's heart himself, deep down. One of wonder and innocence, desiring simple moments of calm and contemplation; tentative and meek—yearning, yet afraid, to be cherished himself. But as wide and deep and gentle as she knew his heart to be, he somehow continued to surprise her.

Her jaw hung just a little, her breathing slow and quiet as she watched him stand there with their son in his arms, both of them calm and quiet, as Arthur started to sway just a little. She took in the sight of Arthur's closed eyes and big arms wrapped around Isaac. And Isaac's tranquil expression from under his father's doting and gentle hand. His little calves—getting longer, but still soft and plump—and bare feet dangling contentedly as his father held him to his chest. The setting sun greeting their softly smiling faces in ribbons through the leaves of the fig tree.

Perfect peace. Trust, contentment, rest.

It was everything she wanted, except to be a part of it. But she didn't want to interrupt them, didn't want to risk ruining the specialness of their time together by inserting herself.

Just when she thought she could be satisfied to be a witness from a distance, Arthur opened his eyes, glanced in her direction, and grinned when he saw her. She felt the corners of her mouth slowly turn up. He wasn't embarrassed to be found like this; neither was she unwelcome.

Isaac lifted his head and took a deep breath. He was about to lie his head back down when he saw her and smiled.

She watched Arthur reach up for a ripe fig on a nearby branch and bring it down. He brought it near his other hand around Isaac and pressed both thumbs into the fruit, tearing it in half. Her eyes slowly grew when he reached his arm out in her direction to hand her one of the halves while he gave the other to Isaac. She had assumed one half would be for Isaac and one for himself. The thought hadn't been close to her mind that one had been meant for her.

With a smile she stepped closer, reached out, and took it. She brought it between her lips and watched Isaac sip the seeded flesh from the skin, matching Arthur's chuckle at the quiet smacking sound.

When the three of them sat down against the tree trunk, Arthur kept Isaac in his lap. She noticed Isaac resting his head on his father's shoulder again and took the shawl from around her to drape it over him, covering his head and back and tucking the edges snug between the two of them.

As she reclined back against the tree again and rested her right hand in the grass, she felt Arthur's little finger brush against hers. She looked down to see his hand doing the same thing, lying flat in the grass between them.

It was all of it together: the sumptuous calmness of nature around them, the sunlight that made everything hazy, the sight of their baby boy lying contentedly against his father's chest. The aromatic fragrance of she and Arthur passing raw figs back and forth between them.

_Don't miss this_, was whispered in her head. _Hold onto this moment, everything about it, and don't let go._ But like all of life, it came, was enjoyed, and passed on, too quickly becoming only memory.

They would always be there in her heart: the three of them, just like that under the fig tree.

.

That night was Isaac's first time sleeping in the bed in his room, rather than in the crib.

Arthur watched Eliza whisper to him in her arms as he yawned: "You wanna try sleepin' in the big boy bed?"

She tucked him in, and she and Arthur lied on either side of him for a little while to ensure he felt safe and didn't roll off. Arthur listened to her warm, smooth humming and watched Isaac's belly softly rise and fall, in and out. He'd tuck this day away in his memory, to warm him in lonely moments, as Eliza had so sincerely entreated him to do.

When Isaac had been slumbering soundly for a few minutes, the two of them left, closed the door quietly behind them, and went to the other bedroom.

As Arthur stood facing the wall and unbuttoning his shirt, Eliza's arms slipped through his as she hugged him from behind and placed a hand on the left side of his chest. He smiled and rested his hand over hers. It had been a near perfect day, and those were few and far between. When he felt her kiss his back, he turned to face her and held her in his arms.

She pressed her cheek to his chest for a moment, then looked up at him. "If he has a fraction of your heart, I'll be the happiest mother on earth."

He smirked and shook his head just a little. "He'll be more like you, and the better for it." He brought his thumb up to her smooth cheek.

Eliza closed her eyes at his touch. When she was standing this close to him, he was tall enough that she only needed let her head tilt back a little for him to kiss her. When she did, his hand traveled gently down to the side of her neck, and his lips were on hers, planting soft, warm kisses there.

Arthur drew back and took in her face: eyes closed but softly fluttering open, cheeks flushed to a rosy pink hue. Her voice might not be asking to touch him, but the rest of her was. Aching was probably closer to the truth.

Each time she brought him to this place, he was reminded of all that filled the past couple years—that they'd always been eager to meet here, but now it felt more like becoming one. That they were close now in other ways, and it somehow made this even better—sweeter and truer. That she was the same woman who'd always been there, growing herself and ever so patiently waiting for him to grow with her. As he looked into her eyes, he knew he was growing tired of this warring inside him, that she was beginning to wear him down. He only knew that they both just wanted to be close. And when she looked at him like that… Who was he to refuse?

* * *

**Dear Readers,**

**This chapter was another one that was dear to my heart-all of it, but especially because of the fig tree scene. :)**

**Just two more chapters! I'll probably be uploading them either together or one day after the other, since they're so closely related. It'll be pretty heavy duty, at least for me. Most of it is written already, since I wrote so much of it a long time ago; so this is a big deal for me! I also have high hopes for something special to accompany it; but because of that, I'm unsure when exactly it'll be ready in its entirety. I'm guessing 2-3 weeks. If you're someone who enjoys going back and reviewing, now would be the perfect time to do that! 😉 (I only bring it up because folks have mentioned doing that here.) And if you do go back and review, you're still free to comment anytime; I promise, I won't think it's weird. :) 💙**

**I want to thank each of you again for sticking with me through this work. I know it's been a long road; sometimes I'm embarrassed about how long it's taken. But each of you who've commented have made it such a joy for me. I've always been so pleasantly shocked when guests have commented, sharing they've been reading and are looking forward to more. Simply put, I have the best readers. :) 💛**

**If you're still interested by the end of this work, I'm letting you know now that I have a third and probably final work planned for the series. I don't think it'll be quite as long, but I hope it'll be worth it for all of us-for you, me, and these sweet characters who are so dear to us.**

**I always enjoy reading your thoughts, and thanks again sincerely for being here!**

**Rosie**


	31. 31

****This chapter is accompanied by photos and an edit on Ao3: ****archive of our own works/22767514/chapters/65980054**

**Dearest Readers,**

**My sincerest apologies for the long wait! I plan to never ever make you wait that long again. (I'm kinda in the same boat with you, because I've been wanting to get to the next work like crazy! I've been working on it and having ideas for it pop off in my head like popcorn.)**

**I hope the long wait hasn't caused you to forget things. 😬😅 And I hope this chapter makes up for it. ❤ Thank you for your patience!**

* * *

.

One morning when Arthur had returned a couple months later, he woke early, when the world was still quiet and the light coming through the cracks in the curtains was pale and dusky blue. He tried not to wake Eliza as he slowly slipped his arm out from around her and gently pulled her arm from his chest. But as he pulled up to a sitting position, he felt her stir.

"_Early riser_," he heard her grumble in a whisper and turned to see her on her back with her cheek on the pillow, her forearm over her eyes and a wry, subtle grin on her lips.

He leaned back towards her and pressed his lips to hers, surprising her and causing her to lift her forearm from her eyes. As he began to pull away, she brought her hand to the back of his neck and gently tugged him back for another kiss, this one lasting a little longer than he'd first intended and going just a little deeper than he'd thought she had the wherewithal for this early in the morning. But it was warm and soft and nice. As if easing each other from dreams to daylight.

She hadn't been afraid of his morning breath. In fact, he only realized in that moment that she'd never shied away from his consistently cigarette-and-tobacco-laced breath. He felt himself grin mid-kiss at the thought. He didn't mind her morning breath either, not in the slightest.

As he drew away again, he watched her bring her forearm back over her closed eyes, leaving only her wide smile to his view.

He pulled the quilt off, got out of bed, and quickly tucked it back up near her to minimize the rush of chilly air under the covers.

He quietly dressed, donned his black hat, and went to the barn for Boadicea, mounting her and taking her out for his early morning ride. The sky was an icy, dull blue—stalling and lingering in that phase when it was unsure, still deciding if it would wake and make room for the sun. And there was still a cold mist hovering near the ground, making Bo's every step a bit dewy and wet.

He took her into the forest and up a nearby mountain, exploring the crags and crevices in the landscape that nature had already discovered and made its home. As Bo slowly waded across the lush, green-saturated forest floor, he watched streaks of golden sunlight begin to peek through the canopy of leaves and outstretched branches overhead and listened to the birds hoot and warble above him. And he thought it was no wonder this was one of Eliza's favorite places. When he came upon a nearby brook, his presence caused a dusty doe and a speckled fawn to lift their heads from the water and bound off. He had Bo follow alongside the water and was reminded by the rushing babble sounds of Isaac's tinkling giggle.

As they made their way back into the tree line and up an incline again, he realized they were now past where he'd ever explored and that they had been for a while. When the ground leveled out again, they went on for another several minutes until he spotted a break in the trees up ahead. He edged her forward through the trees, and when the sun rested unhindered on his face, his brows rose at the sight before him. Even Boadicea had stopped unbidden to take in the scenery.

He took a breath and grinned as he leaned forward in the saddle, resting his forearm on the horn with his wrist hanging lazily over the side. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

His expression slowly smoothed, and he turned his face to look back in the direction of the cabin. All he could think of was Eliza and Isaac, that he wanted to share it with them. That he wanted them to see it.

.

By the time he got back to the cabin it was late morning, well past breakfast, and they were both up and about. She was folding laundry in the sitting room with Isaac on the floor with his crayons and paper.

"Isaac. Don't put that in your mouth, baby. Sweetie. What is it? Give it here," she was saying in her calm, honey-smooth tone. She reached out and took a little cobalt blue bottle of milk of magnesia from him, thankful the cork was still in its place. "Where…how…how did you get that?" she chuckled as she stood and took it back to the kitchen counter, deciding instead to hide it up in the cabinet.

She smiled when she saw Arthur. "We've got a climber, I guess." She swiped her hair out of her face. "How was your ride?"

"'S good. Hey, I was thinkin'…" he came close, leaning against the counter. "How's about a picnic this afternoon? Found somethin' I wanna show you two."

Her smile slowly brightened, and her eyes gleamed. "A picnic?"

He smirked and nodded, watching her eyes travel over his face and her smile widen further.

"All right."

.

"Oh Baltimore," Andrew Bird

you tu . be /aub2-dxjASU

[For those who listen, I imagined Eliza taking Arthur's hand in the forest when the violins start at about 00:47 and the sound of triangles and whistling beginning at 02:15 representing him and Isaac playing in the field, with the song ending when they've all sat for the picnic.]

.

What followed was a flurry of readying her thatched basket with lunch, fruit, sweets, and a blanket. Arthur going out and leading the horses to the porch. Eliza wrapping Isaac up, securing a bonnet atop his head, and strapping him with his back to hers.

Arthur helped her up into the saddle and noticed her sit with a leg on either side as she situated her flowing skirts, and he smiled. Even after he'd left her a pair of his breeches, more than half the time she still wore skirts and frocks. But he liked it.

He mounted Bo, and the three of them rode out at a trot. He knew he had to lead the way, but he wanted her beside him rather than behind. So they kept the pace even and steady, enough that his hips gently moved opposite his mare's movements as she navigated the rugged landscape.

He'd never ridden with Eliza like this, side by side, with her on Samson and him on Bo. It was swiftly becoming one of his new favorite things. She was taking the uneven and oft times inclined terrain like a champ, easy in the saddle—smooth and almost linked with her animal. There was no question she was one of the most well-versed riders he'd seen in a while. All that training from her mama.

As the terrain leveled out and they started again through the forest, he watched the breeze pick up a stray strand of her yellow waves that hung loose behind her as she reached up for a patch of warm sunlight. And he didn't realize he'd eased up on Bo and was beginning to fall behind Eliza. But when he saw Isaac in his full glory—bundled up to her back with a bonnet on his head, his arms and legs dangling out of the fabric, along for the ride, watching the wilderness pass behind them, and void of a single care—he couldn't restrain the laugh that bubbled up through his chest.

At the sound, Eliza looked back at him.

"Got a nice little package there," he grinned wide.

She smiled bright and laughed. At the jostling of her chest and the sound, Isaac's eyes darted his father's way; and when he saw his expression, he squished up his face in a gleeful smile and fanned and wiggled his arms and legs a couple times—all the burst of exuberance the fabric around him would allow.

When they neared the place he wanted to show them, he hopped off Bo and helped Eliza down, and she unwrapped Isaac and held him to her hip. She gazed up at the forest canopy, a soft look of wonder across her face. She looked at him as he held out his hand to her.

"It's this way. Come on," he said.

She placed her hand in his, and he drew her towards the break in the trees as the horses followed. When they stepped into the sunlight, her eyes grew wide, and her breath was swept away. "Arthur…"

It was a clearing thickly blanketed with wildflowers, nearly as far as the eye could see. Bursts of purple and blue against the green grass, some of them sprinkled, but most bunched together in places.

His smile grew in time with hers as he watched her look out across the field. He knelt and plucked a little white daisy, coming close and tucking it behind her ear.

Eliza stood struggling to take in all of the scenic landscape before her—the wildflowers, the stately mountains at the opposite end of the clearing, the vibrant blue sky. _How have I never seen this?_ she wanted to ask. But when she looked at Arthur, she knew it had waited to be discovered for this moment.

Isaac wiggled to get down as his father walked backwards into the field with his arms out. Isaac ran to him through the flowers with a giggle, his arms reaching up for him.

"There's my bud," in Arthur's warm, low tone.

Waking from her daze, she watched Arthur scoop Isaac up into his arms with a smirk and swing him up high into the air, to which Isaac let out a high-pitched squeal of unhindered joy. Arthur rested him on his left hip, turning to continue walking into the field with a whistle to the horses. She beamed, gathered her skirts, and ran out into the field to join them. When she arrived at his side, she felt Arthur's big arm come around her shoulders and bring her to him as he planted a kiss atop her head.

With his arm still around her, Arthur watched her reach out and slowly run a hand across the tops of the pale purple and cornflower blue wildflowers that hit just below her waste.

When they settled on a spot, they fanned out the blanket, retrieved the basket from off of Bo, and sat for lunch—salt beef and cornbread muffins, what she'd had prepared and was easy enough to throw together on short notice. She gave Isaac a piece of watermelon she'd sliced, but he was quickly finished with it and looking for blackberries. As she finished tying off the second of two braids she'd put in her hair, she breathed a laugh and uncovered the jar of berries she'd brought.

When Isaac was quiet and contented, Eliza looked at Arthur who sat to her right near the adjacent edge of the blanket. She took him in—a rugged bandit amidst a field of flowers and wild earth—and thought about how well he fit in right where he sat. A wild and unruly but kindly mountain man with bright blue eyes, an artist's mind, and a heart of solid gold.

She smiled at Isaac as he plucked a tiny purple bud and handed it to her. When she spun it between her fingers, he hummed a laugh; and when she tucked it into one of her braids, he gave a precious, clumsy little clap.

Arthur watched her as she played with their son, a young woman somehow still innocent to everything he knew the world to be. He'd rubbed the innocence from off of her himself, and still, somehow it sprang up from somewhere within her. He watched them and knew they were pure and good—good things, the both of them—and he thought about how out of place it made him feel. She was young and beautiful, and so was their son. With their bright smiles in the sheer daylight, with the fragrant flowers growing around them, the birds warbling, and the indigo mountains shooting up before them; it was more than any healthy, red-blooded, average man could want for.

But he was no average man.

He bowed his head. To sit here amongst such beauty and still feel undeserving, lacking, and alone—he disgusted himself at the thought. It told him just what he was.

Eliza lied down on her back across the blanket, taking a moment to look up at the fluffy clouds passing in the vibrant blue sky.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You ever thought about growin' old, Arthur?"

He tried not to appear so visibly touched by the fact that his health, safety, and long life was what she was thinking of in this moment. But he was. And he was surprised when he had to think back hard to answer. "Well, no, actually. Can't say I have."

"Would you like to?"

"Well…no one can say they wanna be old, but no one wants to die young."

"You don't plan for the future at all?"

He sighed. "I guess…it ain't in the description of a wayfarer."

"But you ain't one anymore."

Moving only his eyes, he looked down at her, his expression sober.

"My daddy used to say to me…'Where you feel loved, you're already home.' Don't you feel loved here, Arthur? You oughtta know by now you are."

"Mama. Mama…" Isaac called to her.

She sat up again, putting her finger in Isaac's little grasp as he giggled and held a hand out for more berries.

"Just a couple more, okay?" she smiled knowingly as she handed them to him. "You can have some more tomorrow."

Arthur eyed the bodice of her fitted light blue gown and the way it clung to her narrow waste, creasing about her neckline as she moved. By now, it was a body he knew better than either of them had realized: every curve, all her freckles, every beauty mark and where they were, even what she felt like against his own skin—it was like he could see straight through her frock. He looked up at her and noticed the way the sunlight glinted off her golden braided locks, the hair at her temples drawing up slightly in waves, creating a glow around her in the sunlight. She couldn't avoid being a sweetheart if she tried. She was the very picture of it, inside and out.

"You're happy when you're here. Don't think I haven't noticed," she looked at him.

He remained quiet but took the end of one of her pigtail braids between his fingers, letting his lids drape low as he eyed the way her silky strand moved under his touch.

"Isaac loves us both. Needs us both," she said to him as she kept her eyes on Isaac with a smile and brought him to her lap. "We could make this work, you know. You and me. We've been through a lot together." She glanced at him before returning her eyes to Isaac. "You like me a little. Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, would it?" she said as she straightened the little collar on Isaac's shirt. "Eke out an honest living, watch Isaac grow up. Maybe have some more if we wanted to. Make a real go of it. We could. It could be wonderful."

He watched her as she smiled and whispered sweet things to Isaac. She'd been dropping a few hints here and there over his last couple visits that she wanted him to stay, permanently. 'All I'm sayin',' he could still hear her say calmly, 'is he gets close to you, and I'm the one left to clean up the mess, when you leave and he misses you, wonderin' where you gone.'

Now she was laying all her cards on the table. And it was clearer to him than anything that she was trying to give him her love, while asking for his in return. He looked up at her face and considered that from her perspective, whenever he came round he was getting his hands on her and making love to her nearly every chance he got. He thought not for the first time just how easy it would be for the poor kid to get things mixed up. That she'd lost sight of what was good for her, or maybe had never known. It was what he'd hoped to avoid.

He knew right then he'd have to hurt her. He clenched his jaw and grimaced to himself, already sorry.

"Is that what you thought this was?" he said gravely and steely, knowing she wouldn't answer. He let his voice go deeper and his tone drawl more antagonistic than he felt. "If that's what you thought this was, Eliza, we never should've done this." He began hurriedly packing things away into the basket to drive home his point, knowing it would make her feel like a child. He watched her smile slowly fall away. "That ain't happening, Eliza. You know that," he bit out sharply. "You know better than to bring it up. _Jesus Christ alive_—very last thing I need right now!"

He sat still again, working hard at looking like a steaming kettle, though he was really just boiling over at himself.

"I… I was…" she breathed timidly. "_We_ were…"

He watched her look away, growing weary, but not fighting back. She had no teeth to her. She was so different from him. Always had been.

As long as she was looking away, he took the chance to let his despondence and fatigue show. But when he saw the thin rim of tears in her eyes and how there weren't enough there to fall, he knew he had to push forward.

When she glanced at him, he shot her an icy sneer. "You're always askin' me to tell you things about myself, somethin' you don't know. Here's one: I shot a father and his young son the other day."

Her eyes never left his.

"He wasn't a boy; was nearly a man, but it don't matter. I shot 'em," he continued. "Just to rob their place. Didn't start out that way, but one thing led to another, and by the end of it they were on the ground, their blood seepin' out of 'em. The kid, he… I watched his head blow open like a…" He looked down, gesturing with his hands and searching for the words. "Well, there's nothin' I could compare it to that you'd know. Sorta like if I dropped a melon, but from way up high." He noticed her pull Isaac ever so slightly nearer, her brows coming together. She was finally learning. "I did that," he said. "And I had no problem doin' it."

"I don't believe you," she said quietly. "If that were true, you wouldn't still be thinkin' about it."

"D'you hear what I just said?" he snapped, squinting sourly at her. "I'm a killer. Ain't sunshine and flowers out there, Eliza! It's a hard world, and I've had to _be_ hard to make my way." When he heard her sniff, he thought with regret that he might've finally succeeded.

"I've seen my share a' brutality," she whispered in a ragged breath. "Illness and death, nothin' but a different kind." She swallowed, looking down. Before long she was looking back up at him with a gentle but pained frown, the tears still gathering in her eyes. "Why did you bring me out here?"

He was a bit stunned and caught off guard by the question, yet again feeling the effects of her uncanny knack for cutting straight past bullshit to the point, to what really mattered. She'd gotten so good at it she could do it while making it seem it wasn't even her aim. Often got too close to the mark for his liking. It unnerved and just about scared the hell out of him how well she could see through him at times. He was about to test just how well.

"Well, I…" he gulped, scrambling to maintain the pieces of his annoyed façade that she'd left him with, that she'd shattered by her use of only a few simple words. "I thought it'd be nice for the boy, and for you, to get outta the cabin." He cleared his throat. "And then you had to go and ruin it," he nodded. "No more talk a' me stayin', all right?" he grumbled, beginning to ease off. "Just put it outta your mind."

She looked away, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye. He noticed how straight and still she was sitting as the wind came and carried her stray hairs. Her eyes were heavy and sagging, and she was breathing slowly through her open mouth. But she didn't give him any tears.

"It ain't who I am," he added calmly and sullenly.

She looked back at him, the rim of tears finally threatening to overflow. "_Why?_" she said quietly but forcefully, her chin trembling and a vein starting to show in her forehead. "Because _he_ says so? Because he gets to decide who you are?" She scoffed and shook her head as she looked away again, her jaw clenching. "If I ever got within a few feet of him, I just might wring the life out of 'im. Certainly have a few choice words, to say the very least. What he's done to you…" she grumbled through gritted teeth. As she looked back at him, her eyes were steely and earnest, capturing his attention. "You're a rough-hewn _jewel_ inside there. They _don't_ deserve you, Arthur," she said clearly and firmly.

She looked up towards the heavens and licked her lips, succeeding at repressing her tears. But a sob jostled her shoulders as she looked back at him and spoke with a sardonic and almost bitter smirk that quickly skittered away. "God, Arthur. You wanna know who you are? Look at the proof. I see how often you spend your thoughts for us, the way you take care, and go out of your way. Don't think I don't."

"I see the way you look at Isaac," she continued, "the way you love him." She went into an even softer whisper for a moment, her face crumpling as she held his eyes. "The way you touch me." She took a hastened breath. "And it ain't just w-when…"

He dipped his head, the brim of his hat covering his eyes for a moment.

"Don't make me feel like I'm crazed, Arthur, please…" she almost whined. Her brows drew up as she bit her lip and whispered almost to herself, "I can take anything but that."

She lowered her head and looked up into his eyes, causing him to bring his head back up. "It's when our hands brush at the dinner table, when you help me down from the saddle, when we pass Isaac between us… It's whenever you touch me. It is." She swallowed and evened her breathing, looking back and forth at his eyes. He wasn't moving a muscle, but she knew him well enough to know that something inside him was squirming. "I'm not wrong. Am I?"

Her heart sank when she saw his jaw tense while the lump in his throat bobbed and he looked away.

She took a silent breath and yet again felt weighed down with loving him.

Still frowning, she waited for him to look back at her. When he finally did, she caught him by the eyes again. She tried not to let disappointment, anger, and pain edge her tone as she spoke calmly and evenly. But she made sure he heard every word: "I wish I were like you. You can get away with pretending we ain't part of you."

A few more minutes of dreadful quiet, of painfully avoiding each other's eyes, when the sound of thunder cracked overhead. They'd been so busy and caught up in their own affairs that they'd missed the dark, dingy clouds accumulating nearby.

Eliza ducked and brought Isaac close as a sheet of rain suddenly came down, dousing them all and beginning to soak their clothes through. She lifted Isaac into her arms as she and Arthur stood, and she began to scramble to save some of the items they'd brought.

"Leave it!" Arthur had to shout over the noise of the rain.

One of her unraveling wet braids whipped her face for a moment as she looked up to see him picking up his tawny leather jacket and coming close to wrap it around the two of them.

"Just leave it. We oughta get outta this." Pinching the collar closed over her head, he brought his arm around her and whistled for the horses. He hunched with them as he lead them toward Bo and up into the saddle before climbing up himself and sitting in front of them. As Eliza tucked Isaac in the saddle between them, Arthur looked around for Eliza's horse, finally noticing him a ways back and a bit to their right.

"Time to go, come on," he called, but it was met without the slightest movement or response. "Yup. Let's git!" he shouted sternly. He sighed when the dumb horse just stood there stock still. "Goddamn son of a…" he mumbled quietly. "Eliza, would you…?"

She popped her head out of his jacket for the briefest moment and called out, "Samson, come on, boy!" before ducking back under the jacket.

The horse immediately hopped-to and fell in line behind them.

Arthur rolled his eyes with a smirk as he turned forward. But just as soon his grin faded, and he had to swallow hard. Even the damn horse could see how special she was.

He looked down and took a moment to feel her arms tight around him, almost like a belt cinched around his chest. He could feel her against him and could imagine her face as she pressed her cheek to his back, shielding their child between them from the wind and rain.

He reached forward and patted his trusted friend's neck. "Precious cargo today, girl. Let's get 'em home," he whispered, before a loud, "Yah!" and a kick of the spurs in her gut.

.

"Eyes Closed and Traveling," Peter Broderick

you tu . be /Q-0KRZXG8Yw

.

With Samson following, Bo took off at a breakneck gallop, obeying Arthur's every instruction to take them back in the direction of the homestead. At each wrathful crack of lightning overhead, the grip of Eliza's arms around his chest tightened. Her hands tugged the opposite lapels of his jacket closed over his shoulders and made as much of a seal for her and Isaac underneath it as she could.

He thought on how he must resemble the lightning for her: same results of disappointment, heartache, and ruination, same angry warnings to stay away. Only with the lightning, she could escape its taunts and dangers. She was forced to keep close to him.

When they finally made it back to the cabin, Arthur swung his leg over Bo and jumped down, quickly turning to help Eliza down. When she landed in the mud, he brought his hand to her waste to steady her; and a weighty lump gathered in his throat when he realized it and her eyes slowly rose to join with his.

The collar of his jacket had fallen to her shoulders when she'd hopped down and was hanging there—still enough to shield Isaac from the storm where he was bundled in her arms, but Eliza's face was quickly streaked with rainwater. From under his hat, his eyes roamed over her: hair now unraveled from its braids and sticking to her face in pieces, wet lashes, and wind-bitten cheeks. So far away where she stood in the flurry of water.

A bolt of lightning flashed behind her, shattering the sky, and again he thought it fitting. He'd just been thinking as he looked at her that heartbreak must be his own self-inflicted punishment. His heart broke whenever hers did.

When Isaac stirred underneath the jacket, turning his face in towards her chest, she walked past Arthur and ran to the house; and his eyes dropped to the ground. He turned and lead the horses to the barn, trudging back through the mud to the house and up the porch steps.

When he made it to the top step, Eliza appeared just outside the doorway without Isaac or the jacket, still wet and in a rush as she looked past him out in the direction of the hitching rail.

"Did Samson make it into the ba—" she started to ask, shouting over the rain.

He tried not to take it as the small slight she may've meant by it—the notion that he could've cared so little as to have left her horse to chill in the rain overnight, or to have forced her back out into the rain to take care of him herself.

When she saw the hitching rail empty, she quickly added, "Oh," and immediately turned to go back inside.

But he took her by the wrist, and she turned to look at him. She went still and caught her breath when she realized how close he was all of a sudden.

Arthur gently pulled her wrist past his waist, tugging her closer to him. He brought his other hand to her cheek and slipped his fingers down to ever so slightly tilt her jaw up to meet him. And he slowly pressed a feather soft kiss to her mouth. When he drew away again, her eyes were filled with tears as she looked back at him. He watched her face scrunch up in pain, and in a rare flash of anger—justified, he knew—she wrenched her wrist free from his hand and went back into the house.

He looked down and took a breath, leaning forward to fill the empty space she'd left in the threshold and resting the heel of his hand on the doorjamb. He decided then and there he needed a drink.

* * *

"When the answers and the truth

take different sides

will you still find me,

will you still see me

through smoke?"

\- Needtobreathe, "Through Smoke"

* * *

Later that evening after she and Isaac had eaten supper and she'd bathed and put him to bed, Eliza sat on the sofa nearest the fireplace watching the flames dance and pulled her robe tighter to her chest.

Arthur still hadn't come home, but he hadn't said goodbye to Isaac. She was sure he would never have left without that. He always said goodbye to them. That one thing was what kept her up, anxiously waiting by the fireplace.

When she realized the light of the fire was dwindling, she reached out and stoked it. Sitting back down, she rested her elbows on her knees, rocking her calves on the balls of her feet just once. She swiped her fingertips across her forehead and down her temple, finally resting her chin on the heel of her hand with a sighed huff of her cheeks. She told herself to stop fidgeting, that Arthur always said she gave herself away when she fidgeted.

A little smirk crept its way onto her lips at the memory of him trying to teach her Texas hold 'em. Her fidgeting and overall inability to pick it up had hilariously tried his patience, and his grumbling had only caused her to laugh all the more, which had made him more flustered and frustrated. He'd finally tossed his cards and declared with finality that it was the one card game she was terrible at. Fighting a grin, he'd said it was because she "didn't have a beguiling bone in her body."

It was the same night he'd asked her to show him what it was she often did sitting on the sofa with her needle and fabric. He'd sat beside her, and she'd shown him the embroidery, telling him it was a pastime her grandmother had passed on to her mother, and her mother had passed on to her. She'd said that it was simple and even silly, but she'd always felt there was a sort of magic in it, in the way it felt when the thread pulled evenly through, the way it always made something new. "Like drawin' a picture with thread," he'd said, and she'd grinned and nodded.

He'd actually asked her to teach him a stitch then. She remembered contrasting the image of the imposing, brawny man beside her fumbling with the needle and thread in his big fingers to the way he could stand so genuinely gruff in his sturdy getup, grab his belt, and puff his smoke. And it'd made her smile. She'd whispered to him from her spot on the sofa beside him that watching him like that was getting her hot and heavy. And it had garnered exactly the response she'd wanted: making him scoff a laugh and call her absurd in his drawling tone.

They knew how to make each other laugh. Only now did it hit her that they'd both spent that evening making a sincere effort to learn an interest of the other. That neither of them had been too embarrassed to do so, but rather were comfortable and at rest in each other's presence. But it wasn't the first time something he'd done had caused her to dwell on the fact that not only did he seem to see things most men didn't, but that he cared.

As the flames spurted before her, she caught herself and nearly growled at the fact that even absent and even after today, he had her smiling. She was still so hurt and upset with him. What right did have to kiss her like after the horrible things he'd said? So tenderly and slowly. He was twisting her up inside, and it was crueler than she'd thought he could be.

Unless he hadn't meant to be. Unless he'd really been sorry and hadn't known how to show it.

She worried the nail of her index finger between her front teeth and hunched closer to the fire, glad for the warmth that enveloped her. She was starting to really be concerned for him. It'd stopped raining and thundering, but it was still plenty chilly tonight. And he'd left his jacket with her. She didn't want to think of him having to go without it.

Suddenly she heard a horse pull to a stop outside and looked up. A few seconds later she saw Arthur come through the front door with a bottle of some kind of liquor, she was sure, in his hand.

She got up and took a couple steps towards him. "Arthur? What're you doing?"

He glanced at her but didn't say a word.

There was no way for her to know how much he'd had, but she could tell he wasn't quite drunk. He wasn't stumbling or staggering around, and his eyes were solemn, but they weren't hazy.

This was one of his ways of hurting himself, she knew. Even if he didn't. He would drink until he retched, and his head would be throbbing and splitting so badly in the morning he wouldn't be able to open his eyes. If she let him go as far as he wanted to.

But the way she saw it, he had no business downing a full bottle of hard liquor. He had just no business wanting to do that to himself.

She watched as he lifted the bottle to his mouth. "Arthur…" she said quietly, but he chose not to hear her. A pang snagged at her heartstrings as she watched him pound back the liquor like water.

She came to him and put her hand on the bottle, speaking in hushed tones. She got his attention when she managed to pull it gently from his mouth, immediately replacing the lip of the bottle with her own. When she drew back just a little, his heavy, sullen eyes looked into hers with something like quiet surprise and bewilderment. As she held him steady, she could feel the turbulence inside him begin to soothe and calm as his brows drew up just a little.

"Come away, love," she whispered softly, looking back and forth into his troubled blue eyes. Even after everything, she loved him so deeply and so thoroughly that just breathing almost hurt. She kissed him again, and when she felt his arm lower slowly, she took the chance to take the bottle gently from him, placing it on the table. He never took his eyes from her face. She looked back into his eyes and rested her hand on his chest. "Come away."

She touched a hand to his face and realized how cold his cheeks were from the wind and night air, but she planned to warm him. She glanced at the fireplace, then drew him by the hand to the hearth where she kissed him and began to unbutton his shirt and remove his wet clothes.

Arthur watched her as she removed her robe and unbuttoned the collar of her nightgown. When they'd both removed all their clothes, they sank to the floor. As they sat looking at each other, he reached back and swept her golden hair over one of her shoulders. He took in the sight of her, lovely as ever with the flames in the hearth casting a warm orange glow on her skin.

But she was lovely in many ways, for many reasons. Down-to-earth and modest, unpretentious and sincere. Gracious and kind, long suffering and forgiving. It seemed she'd spoken true: she'd said many times she'd never give up on him. That alone was like salve to his soul. All the rest was like honey to savor. She was much better than whiskey, much closer than a friend.

And for once. For once. He decided he'd let himself feel her love.

They locked eyes, and he found he didn't want to look away. And they made love on the bear rug with the embers crackling and the firelight dancing beside them, a fire that only paled in comparison to the one they'd sparked between them. And they quickly became tangled like vines in each other, so much so that they couldn't tell where one started and the other began.

"Family," Luke Howard

you tu . be /tg37-HP8Neo

After, as she lied on her back with a small cushion from the sofa under her head, Arthur lied with his cheek on her chest as she gently ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

He had his hand up near her neck, the pad of his fingertip resting just where her repeating pulse ever so subtly expanded her soft skin, just enough that he could feel it. All he wanted was to feel it. To feel her breathing in and out, to hear her heart beating. To know that such a woman, such a person, could love him so, and that she was real. That she was healthy and safe, breathing. And above all, alive. Happy was a luxury as long as she was the other things.

And still, she often was. When she didn't have to be. He tried his best to put himself in her place. He'd learned intimate things about what it was to be a woman, a mother. Things he'd never have known if not for Eliza. That it was demanding in nearly every way, even bloody. But she had even more than her fair share on her plate; she didn't have a normal time of it.

And he knew she was working so very hard to be okay with everything, with the way things were. With his leaving them lonely. His being unsafe and living most of his life away. With never hearing from his lips whether or not he loved her. With what little he could give. And it was not lost on him that even at her young age, she was handling it all beautifully. That even though she'd finally got up the courage to voice for the first time her discontent and her wish for things to be different, she made it all look easy.

Eliza lied there with her fingers in his hair, soaking in the nearness and stillness, thinking that they were both a bit like horses. Sometimes frantic and harried and pained. Only calmed and soothed by the sound, the sight, the touch and smell of their close companion. At the thought, a little smile worked its way onto her lips. Horses. Something they both knew very well.

She heard him say quietly in a dazed tone, almost to himself,

"So tired."

She knew right away he didn't mean just physically. Her heart was full for him, and a painful lump rose in her throat, but she tried to speak anyway. "Been runnin' for so long."

After a few more moments of quiet he said, "You oughta get away from me, Liza."

Tears gathered in her eyes. She'd just been toying with the idea of asking him to marry her. Debating whether it would ruin the evening and elicit a string of expletives from him. Whether it would make her seem a stupid, romantic, pathetic fool. Whether it was totally moronic, out of the question, and unreasonable. It couldn't possibly be completely unreasonable. She'd already given him everything; there was nothing left to give.

She'd nearly resolved to ask it, then to hear those words out of his mouth… Even if he thought it for the best, it was more than enough to rip her heart to shreds.

For her own sake, she decided to set that aside and address something she considered just as pressing: she couldn't bear to know how poorly he thought of himself.

She swallowed and took a breath. "You're gentler than you realize," she whispered. "It's you I see holdin' Isaac every chance you get, isn't it? It's you he lifts his arms to. He ain't got any other daddy. It was you I made love to just now, wasn't it? It's you."

She shook her head, willing her tears not to fall. "You know…you say things like that all the time, but as long as I've known you, I've never once been afraid of you. Not once. Not even today, when you told me those things. I was sad, but I wasn't afraid."

She thought she heard her name on his lips again.

"Maybe you should be," he breathed. She could hear the sorrow in the gravel of his voice, even though he whispered.

"No. I never will," she whispered. "And no one should be made to think of themselves that way." She brought her fingers through his hair again, bringing her other hand up and brushing the dangling hair back from his forehead. She kissed him there and went into an even lower whisper. "Just settle down."

Taking a breath, she brushed the side of her chin against his forehead. "No matter what happens, I want you to do somethin' for me, Arthur. I need you to remember that it's never too late to change. Would you remember that for me?"

He let out a long breath. "Take the babe and get away, far away as you can."

Her brows bunched together at the thought. "And tear you from him? And him from you? Arthur, he's part of you. And you're part of him. I couldn't. I'm not cruel, Arthur."

"You heard me. You'd be a fool to stay here."

Swallowing, she shook her head. "I'm just a fool for you, Arthur. That's all I am, and that's all there is to it." She felt him gently rustle against her, but he didn't look up at her.

"That ain't all you are. You had dreams."

She stilled, her brows drawing up and a sliver of a smirk wanting to appear at the corner of her mouth as she looked down at him. "You remember that?"

"'Course I do. Just another thing I done wrong."

She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Arthur…when are you gonna ease the noose from your own neck? No one's put it there but you. Isaac's better of a dream than I could've ever conjured for myself. 'Sides…that saloon… It's like you said way back when. I didn't belong there, Arthur. Where I belong, is with Isaac." She looked back down at him. "And you."

She touched her fingertips to the creases in his forehead that she knew to be deepening by the day, that she wished so she could ease. "I made my choices. I chose you every time. Even more times than you know," she whispered. She traced a path over his hairline down his temple, finally brushing the side of her finger along his cheek. "You're a wanted man, it's true. Wanted here."

* * *

The next morning Eliza opened her eyes to the feeling of warmth on her forehead and saw it was the daylight peeking in through the sitting room window. She looked down to find that Arthur had covered her with an afghan blanket from the sofa.

When she turned, she saw a ripe Bartlett pear from the trees outside sitting on a plate beside her on the floor. She reached out for it and brought it to rest against her nose, closing her eyes and smiling as she breathed in its sweet, luscious scent. Her favorite fruit. He'd remembered.

"Is Isaac up yet?" she lifted her head and groggily rubbed one eye. As she slowly sat up, she absentmindedly held the blanket to her chest. "Arthur?" She looked around, but he wasn't in the sitting room or kitchen. She stood and wrapped the blanket around her, going to her bedroom.

"Arthur—" she called as she pushed the door open to see the room empty. And as soon as she did, a terrified stillness overtook her. There wasn't anything about the empty room that should've told her so, but she knew at her core something was off.

"No. No, you couldn't've. Not after that." She turned and swiftly ran to Isaac's room to see it quiet and still, Isaac slumbering peacefully. "No. Please no," she whispered in a harried panic. In her whirling rush, she'd caught a glimpse of Arthur's black hat, and her heart leapt in her chest for a moment; but it was when she realized that it was _just_ his hat resting on the bedside table and no Arthur that her heart fell with a miserable thud, and she began to sob. "_No._"

She walked to it and ran her fingertips over the scuffed black leather, closing her eyes as his deep voice jumped back into her mind, his words that he'd known she'd be reminded of by this: _I don't want you to ever worry that I won't come back. Take this. As assurance that I will be. I won't ever forget about you two. And I won't ever stay away. This I swear to you now, Eliza_. She could see his charming boyish smirk as clearly before her as if it were two minutes ago. _Whenever I've got the sun in my eyes, I'll think of you two, and how I've gotta get back._

It was their strange messaging system, when words were too much to get out, or just not enough.

As a tear ran down her cheek she opened her eyes, and when she did she saw the corner of a paper peeking out from under the hat. When she pushed the hat back a little, her chest seized in a viselike grip when she realized it was a letter, covered densely with handwriting.

She grabbed the paper and tried to read what he'd written, then scrambled with exasperation for the pair of reading glasses she'd left in the drawer for when she read Isaac stories in bed. Hurriedly tucking the arms behind her ears, she leaned against the wall and slowly slumped down to the floor as she began to read in Arthur's beautiful, flourishing script:

_Sweet Eliza,_

_As you well know by now, I keep a tight lock on what's inside of me, and guard it faithfully. For some strange reason it's easier to put things on a page. I'm sorry even for that._

_You remember when I told you I didn't want Isaac to know I'm his daddy because of how it would hurt him for us to part and for him to go without me? Well, that was only half true. Truth is he can't grow up to be like me. He just can't. The things I have to do from time to time. I can be a nasty, monstrous son of a bitch. That much I know. And I can't seem to get right. For all your goodness you can't see it. Part of me wishes you could, because it might make you wise._

_You're decent, Eliza. The very definition. And every moment you spend with me is another moment you risk losing that. I'd hate to see it. I'm on my own path, a real bad one, set in stone. No doubt headed straight for hell, if there is such a thing. And maybe this is all part of it, maybe it's making me even more jagged and crooked inside. To have to turn away from my son. From you._

_But I'll be damned if I drag you and little Isaac down there with me. See, I've seen the cycle of the life of an outlaw. It more often than not comes back for you, one ugly way or another. And I know you remember what I told you by the river: good things need to be protected. That's you, honey. You and Isaac. So if I were to love you, it'd make everything so much harder on all of us. It might even put you both more at risk. Can you understand that? And you should know it's been hard to keep from loving you, as I'm sure you'd make it so for any man. And Isaac is as pure and good a treasure as they come. You're both just another thing the devil's dangling in front of me, just another thing I can't have._

_I can already hear you say that I'll never let myself be happy._

As her tears left rivers on her cheeks, she sighed and scoffed both mirthfully and bitterly at his ability to read her mind—as well as at the fact that it seemed they really did know each other far better than either of them let themselves realize.

_Maybe that's true. And if it is, you've stumbled right into that curse. But I don't deserve it anyways. I don't have much of any good in me, and knowing that, I reckon it Well, I'll say it. It scares me when I'm around you two. When I look at you, when I'm near you, it's real hard to know just how bad I am for you._

_Sweet Eliza. You really are_

She hurriedly turned the paper to read the back of the letter.

_like honey. It's clear to me that you love me. Probably more than anyone in my life ever has. And the way you love, you give your whole heart. And you don't ask for nothing back. It's a kind of love, a way of loving, that I just ain't used to. For that, I ought to thank you. And I can't tell you how sorry I am. You couldn't have known it, but it was the worst thing for you to do with your heart._

_I'm sitting here watching our son sleep and dream. He's just an angel, sweetheart. Maybe I'm stalling now. Sometimes I'm almost shamed by the thought of you going nine months with part of me inside you. Not because of Isaac, but because it's so intimate and special a thing, if that makes any sense at all. It shouldn't have been me._

_I often think of how much I've robbed from you, Eliza, as it seems it's all I'm good for. A good, stable life with a good husband—a good man with a clean heart who loves you and provides in a decent way, living someplace you could thrive and prosper. Not hidden away. Spreading the sunlight and kindness you seem to have in spades, and smiling often. You'll never know just how sorry I am for that. You deserve far better than this life. And being stuck with a twisted bastard ain't no consolation. But just as clearly as I see you were made for that life, I know I'm not. No matter how I may wish it. I was made for this one._

_Oh, what an awful mess I gone and gotten you into, honey. If not for Isaac, how I wish we could go back and change it, keep you away from me. Two hearts in the fire we are, darlin. Always have been, haven't we, from the very first moment. And there ain't no way out._

_The way things is, is all I can give to you. And I do mean all. Please don't ask for more. It'll only break your heart._

_I imagine it'll be tough for you to welcome me after this. Don't expect to see me back for a full three months. I know it might seem differently, but please believe that the very last thing I wish to be is cruel to you._

_Kiss Isaac every day for me._

_Arthur_

Crumpling the letter a little, she brought it to her chest, hung her head, and wept without restraint. She quickly brought both hands over her face to try to stifle the sound and keep from waking Isaac.

He didn't love her. He'd finally said it in words.

This was pain. This was how badly it hurt to love a hurting person. This was what it was.

* * *

"White lights and desperation.

Hard times and conversations.

No one should ever love me like you do.

.

Sometimes my bad decisions

define my false suspicions.

No one should ever love me like you do.

.

Last night, confidence was shaken.

My wounds and my past were saying

no one should ever love me like you do.

.

While I'm on this road you take my hand.

Somehow you really love who I really am.

I push you away, still you won't let go.

You grow your roses on my barren soul.

.

The way I push you through it,

what you had to see.

I'm a train wreck, I'm a mess.

You see the best and the worst in me.

.

Still I can't imagine that I've earned your trust.

I don't understand where your love comes from.

Who am I to be loved by you?"

.

\- Needtobreathe, "Who Am I"

you tu . be /AUdMMUUYXKs

* * *

.

**I hope it comes across that Arthur is desperately, wildly in love with both of them. Including Eliza! Spoilers for Disaster Road: When he tells her he doesn't love her in Disaster Road, it's an outright lie. I knew it was when I first wrote it. The first and only time he ever lied to her. (Besides when he told her he's a man with no love in him, which I think we can allow is something he thinks of himself and maybe wants others to think. 😔) And after learning what she'd been doing with his money, when he inwardly comments that he loved her more now after losing her than he ever did when she was alive, it had much more to do with the active verb of showing love in an authentic way-making sure she knew and felt it. Despite all his adamant protestations to the contrary, we know Arthur knows what love is, and we know he knows how to love well. End Spoilers**

**But he's just as afraid that all he is, is bad for them, in numerous ways. Not the least of which is safety, since he's always on the run. And he thinks that pushing Eliza away is what's best and safest for her. And Eliza is a very smart woman. (Did you love it when she had the guts to call him out on his bull during the picnic? Even quietly, even-keeled, and without raising her voice. She's amazing, I love her. 😩) But she has some abandonment trauma and some self-deprecating tendencies herself. So she's ready to believe it when he leads her to believe he doesn't love her. 😞💔 (He never came right out and said that in the letter though.)**

**I also sincerely hope it comes across that she is NOT just a random little girl to him. No matter how he tries to deny it to keep her safe and to keep himself from being vulnerable, she is special to him. And beyond that, she understands him. They've shared many very intimate moments. They know each other, they're close, and they care about each other deeply. And at least as I've written it, I personally feel that they could be husband and wife if given the chance.** 😞💗💖

**I highly recommend giving the song at the end a listen. It's absolutely incredible. I hope the photos weren't to distracting! It's my first time trying it with so many. And I know it might be hard to get through, but I hope this chapter resonates with you. I had a lot of it written a long, long time ago and kept building on it and editing it. Arthur's letter in particular went through many, MANY drafts and edits.**

**Love to you all! I appreciate every single one of you and always enjoy hearing your thoughts. 💕 It means the world. Expect the final chapter in this work this weekend.**

**\- Rosie**


	32. 32

In the quiet morning hours that day after Arthur had left sometime in the night, and after she'd read his letter and shed enough tears to carry ships on their way, Eliza finally rose and left Isaac's room to dress. As she walked to the bedroom, her attention was snagged by a burst of color on the kitchen table. She turned to see a little glass jar filled with a sprig of the pink and magenta flowers from the bushes out front.

As she brought her hand up to feel the fragile velvet petals between her thumb and finger, its image quickly blurred before her. It brought to mind the treasures of life and love. How fragile life and how painful love, yet neither any less resilient, neither any less worthy of being pursued and cherished. Sniffing, she looked up to the raw wood boards in the ceiling and shook her head. She envisioned him picking these that held so much meaning and leaving them for her after having written that letter. He'd known very well what this meant between them.

She went to her room, dressed, and returned to Isaac's room to wake him. She'd dreaded his reaction to finding his father missing, but nothing could've prepared her for it.

He'd smiled when he opened his eyes to see her, the way he always did. She'd helped him down from bed, and they'd walked out to the kitchen together.

He turned and looked back at her with a carefree, expectant grin. "Dah. Ah-tur." he said.

She was unable to keep from frowning as she softly shook her head.

"Dah. Ah-tur," he quietly said again, the grin still on his face. He squatted and turned his head to the side to look under the table. "Ah-tur?" When he wasn't there, he continued looking around the sitting room, finally looking back at her. "Where go?"

She leaned back against the side of the table and held onto it on either side of her as she watched him look for him. "He's not here, Isaac," she frowned.

He finally toddled to his mother's bedroom. "Where Ah-tur?"

"He's not here," she whispered, her brows drawing up as she forlornly watched him disappear into the room. She brought a hand up to cover half of her face as she imagined him going around the bed, looking under it, coming up empty.

When he finally reappeared, his expression was changed with understanding. His doe eyes were near panicked and full to the brim with tears. And his innocent, unknowing smile had been flipped to a frown, pulled deep and tight.

"He went away. I couldn't stop him," she sniffed, her voice beginning to pinch. "He went away again, baby. I couldn't stop him." Her face crumpled, and she kneeled as he ran to her, his breathing coming in big, fragmented gasps.

"_Ah-tur!_" he screamed, rubbing one of his clenched eyes with his fist as he fell into her waiting arms.

"I know," she cried, the tears streaming down her cheeks and her chin trembling. She held the back of his head as he wept into her neck. Her heart was breaking into a thousand tiny, splintered pieces as she watched his heart break, felt it break. "I'm so sorry!" she gasped. "I'm so sorry, Isaac. Oh, Isaac. My baby." She sniffed and sobbed with him, rocking to the side and gently stroking his head. Even as she did, she knew this memory would be a scar on her heart. "_Our_ baby."

He'd grown increasingly sullen after that. And she began to notice only too late that he'd tucked his voice away, hardly ever speaking or uttering a sound. A two-year-old. So somber and heartbroken he couldn't bring himself to speak.

She tried so many things, to no avail. And the days without his voice forming her name, '_Mama_,' or his tinkling laugh ringing in her ears was stretching on longer than she could bear.

One evening when he was lying on his back in his bed, she knelt on her knees beside the bed and smiled brightly at him. She inched his shirt up and blew a couple big, spurting kisses into his belly, the way Arthur had done as a sure-fire way to make him cackle and giggle. But he only opened his mouth big as a watermelon slice and smiled wide; no sound emitted from him.

Her smile fell abruptly and she frowned deep, her brows coming together in sorrow and panic. "Isaac. Baby, please. I miss your laugh. Mama misses your voice. Please, honey," she sobbed, bringing her hand tight over her mouth and crumpling to the floor. "Please, God," she covered her face in her hands and wept. "Please don't take this from me. Not this."

It had been the last shred of joy left in her everyday life; but it was quickly slipping through her fingers like sand, and there was nothing she could do to hold onto it.

After Isaac had fallen asleep, she'd gone to the kitchen table to frantically put pen to paper:

_I swear to God, Arthur. I can't do this alone anymore. __Isaac's... __I'm... __Please..._

She scratched out each of the last words and finally crumpled the letter, dropping her head into her hands. He'd already told her, already made it clear that she was alone in this. Alone in the world.

* * *

One morning when the two of them were sitting at the table for breakfast, she stared off at nothing as she nibbled her thumbnail. The color had drained from her face and a shadow had taken up residence under her eyes. Wiping the side of her face and shaking herself out of it, she finally got up, dressed them both in black, and rode into town.

As they came down main street at a trot, she dismounted, tethered Samson, and unwrapped Isaac. And the two of them went into the general store hand in hand.

Mr. Andrews looked up at the sound of the door opening and smiled when he saw them. "Mornin' to ya both," he said at they approached the counter. "If you're here for that blue dye, I ain't got it in yet. By next week, surely. I guess there's a shortage on dye at the moment. Can't seem to get any a' my orders filled for the time bein'."

Without much change to her expression, Eliza slowly walked to the wall, looking over the shelves. "Life is disappointin', Mr. Andrews. You learn to get used to it."

As he watched her, his brows came together deeply in concern and outright surprise at such a sentiment coming from its source.

"No, I'm here for a bit of ribbon, or even some twine if you have it. Figured if you did, it'd be cheaper here than Mrs. Michaels' place."

"Oh—well sure, I keep a few spools just there," he tried to grin as he pointed past her to a row of them on a shelf just below her waist.

She ran her fingertips over the spools of pastel ribbon and rolls of twine, but kept her eye on Isaac where he remained at the counter.

Mr. Andrews leaned forward on the counter. "Let's see, Isaac. What can I getchya today, huh?"

Isaac looked up at him in his crisp white shirt and little black vest, his sweet blue-green doe eyes hitting just above the counter from where Mr. Andrews stood.

"Will it be…chocolate?" he said, pointing to a jar on the counter.

Isaac gently shook his head.

"Horehound?" he said, pointing to another jar.

Isaac shook his head.

"Lemon drop?"

When Isaac made a face, Eliza softly chuckled. "He hates sour things."

"Hmm…" Mr. Andrews mumbled. "Licorice rope?"

Again, Isaac shook his head.

"Well, I'm hard pressed to give ya chewy caramel at your young age. What about a peppermint?"

Isaac's eyes jumped up to his for the briefest moment when he pointed to the jar of white candy pillows with swirling red stripes around them. As he eyed the jar, he slowly nodded his head.

"Ha! Peppermint woulda done it this whole time? You're an easy kid to please…"

"Isaac, what do you say, honey?" Eliza said quietly as Mr. Andrews removed the lid of the jar. "Hm?" As Isaac looked over at her, she felt her chest swell with anticipation. And she wondered if it would always be this way, or if her heart would eventually learn to let go of the hope that continually kept it in such shreds.

Isaac looked back up at the storekeeper, took a breath, and swallowed. "I… I ca ha sum, peas?"

Eliza's eyes grew wide, and her face crumpled as a loud sob suddenly erupted from her throat, racking her chest and spurring her forward towards her son. She crouched beside him and brought her arms around him just as he popped the candy into his mouth with a bright smile. She nestled her chin into the little crook of his shoulder. And when she brought her hand to the back of his head, she hurried to tear her black riding gloves off so she could feel his soft hair. Sniffing, she finally drew back and stroked his chin. "Say it again, baby. What do you say?"

"Tankoo," he looked up at the storekeeper with a sheepish grin.

She whimpered and smiled bright. It was a few more moments before she realized what a scene she'd made and stood, wiping her cheek in embarrassment. "Sorry…" she sniffed.

"Oh…i-it's all right."

She could tell he wanted to ask after her general well-being. She sniffed again and swiped her hair out of her face, stooping to pick up her gloves. "This ribbon'll do," she said placing a roll of pale blue ribbon on the counter. "It's just like one I have at home. Just a foot please," she said, going into her coin purse. "And how much for the candy?"

"Oh, no charge for the candy," he smiled. "My pleasure."

She grinned. "Thank you."

He snipped the ribbon and watched as she pulled a small bundle of wildflowers from her satchel and tied the ribbon around the stems. He gestured to her black gown. "Goin' to see 'em?"

Her smile slowly fell as she nodded. "Been too long."

He nodded along with her. "Give 'em my best," he said.

And the two of them exited the way they'd entered—hand in hand.

When they reached the cemetery in the lot behind the little church on the edge of town, Eliza made a beeline to them. Instead of standing or kneeling as was customary and proper, she sat criss-cross in the grass, close to the gravestones.

"Hi, Mama. Hi, Papa." She reached out and laid the bundle of wildflowers in the grass between them. "You shared everything, so…I figured you'd like to share flowers." Noticing the moss and dirt in a couple letters of their names, she quickly slipped her bare finger into the etching and dusted it away. She reached for her son and drew him to stand close to her. "Say hi, Isaac."

"Hi."

"This is your Memaw and Pappaw, baby."

"Memaw and Papa?" he looked at her.

"Memaw and Pappaw. Your papa is—" She slowly frowned and swallowed.

She looked up at the gravestones. "I miss you so. I wish… I wish so many things. Maybe I am selfish. I've thought it for a while now," she whispered as her eyes filled. She bowed her head and brought her fingertips to her closed eyelids as the tears fell down her cheeks.

"I wish you were still here, and I wish Arthur were here. I wish you could know him. You'd both love him so, like I do. He's a lot like you, Papa. He's big and tall, tough and brawny. But he has the same good, sweet character and tender heart. Only he's…an outlaw," she scoffed a laugh. "So he…he can't be here. Well, I'm sure you know all about it."

Her eyes crinkled together, and she sniffed. "I'm trying to be a big girl without you. I am. Really, I am. But I don't think I'm doin' a very good job." She rubbed her forehead hard. "You probably think I'm…gone astray."

"Mama…" she heard Isaac whisper.

She glanced at him and struggled to smile as she took his little hand in hers. "This is your grandbaby. Isaac. I named him after you, Papa," she smiled bright at the gravestone on the left. "You were both meant to be grandparents. I remember wishing it so for you. But I was real worried that it…it would never happen. There just…" she sniffed and looked down, "just didn't seem to be a man patient enough or kind enough left in the world."

She looked at Isaac with a smile and stroked the side of his chin with her thumb. "You look so much like him, baby," she whispered.

She looked back up at the gravestones, her smile quickly twisting into a frown. "Well, now it's happened, and your grandson's the most wonderful thing, and you're gone," she sobbed.

Isaac came and folded himself in half, resting his cheek on her thigh to give her a hug.

She brought her fingertips through his soft blonde hair. "Come here, son," she whispered. She finally slipped her hands under his arms and brought him into her lap, and they looked together at the gravestones.

"Isaac's got a little sister. Up there. Hope," she managed a frail grin at the marker to the right, her namesake. "Maybe you can still be grandparents. Maybe you two can look after her for us. 'Til I…" she swallowed hard, "'til it's finally my time." She licked her top lip and sighed. "To tell you the truth, I…I sometimes have this strange feelin' that death is so near. I guess death is all around us," she sniffed.

"All I can give you now is to remember you both." A sob burst from her that racked her shoulders. "I don't…" she shook her head, pursing her lips as her tears came fast, "I don't think anyone'll care to remember me once I'm gone." She brought her trembling fingers up to her mouth.

She finally took a deep breath to try to steady herself as she wiped the top of her cheeks with the heel of her hand and rubbed her nose. "You taught me so many things. Most of all, I remember you taught me to look for the best in others, to hold out hope that they'll see it too. To cling to that hope, to life and love." Her brows drew together, and the tears finally overflowed.

"It's been hard," she sobbed. "It's been real hard."

Late one evening back at the cabin a couple weeks later, Eliza stepped through the threshold of the front door and onto the porch, the pads of her bare feet silent against the rough wooden panels.

She looked out into the wilderness, trying to find where the dark night sky met with the rolling hills. The sky was such a deep, dark violet, it almost resembled her black ink well, and the sorrow she carried.

There were only a few pinholes of light in the sky to greet her tonight. She looked down, trying to forget how the sight of stars in such a dark, expansive sky made her chest feel so heavy it was difficult to breathe. She sat in the wooden rocking chair and looked down, taking her nightgown between her fingers and rubbing the knobby eyelets in the fabric.

Looking back up, she saw Arthur's face walking toward to her from out of the darkness and shut her eyes. He would not be coming to her tonight. Not even the endless sea of night-covered hills would bring him to her now.

He didn't love her. There wasn't a day that passed when she didn't think about that, at least once. How she'd suspected it all along. How she'd wanted to be wise but couldn't be. How he'd duped her and played her for a fool, played with her heart. How she'd finally all but pushed him to confirm it, her own worst fear. He hadn't even had the guts to say it outright to her face. He'd had to put it in writing, so she could hold onto it as proof for the rest of her life.

It made her feel so that it was all foolishness—caressing him so softly to her as she had that night before he left again without a word. And truly, it had been foolishness—to let herself get so close to a man who would never give her his heart, never choose them. She had practically thrown herself under his feet to be trampled.

She grit her teeth and felt her face go red as the hot tears streamed down her cheeks. _Go on. Treat me like the little girl I am to you, that you know I'll always be to you. Ignorant and pathetic. Little and insignificant. A nuisance. Don't make me feel I mean anything to you. Don't pretend you love me. Not anymore. No more pretending. No more. _"No more."

But, oh, how desperately she longed to return to what it felt like when he pretended and she didn't know the truth. What it felt like when she was left wondering, hoping there was some chance of his loving her. It was only a sweet memory now.

She sobbed as she felt herself grow cold towards him. She'd always love him. But she could already see so clearly in the days ahead, in the ever changing seasons, the two of them growing distant. Her heart was breaking so for it, but she could see it. Life without his love. As clearly as if it were before her—a somber gray cloud hanging over them when he came home, making everything pale and dull and muted. Avoiding each other's eyes, never speaking of anything but daily chores, secluding themselves to opposite corners of the room, hardly touching each other. Pretending and maybe truly forgetting that they really know each other well. Him, forced to see her to see Isaac. Her, forced to be in the presence of him whom she loved but who wouldn't choose her, couldn't and wouldn't love her in return.

She could see Arthur's forlorn and sorry face: captivating, entrancing blue-green gems looking up at her from under the brim of that damned beautiful hat. Silent eyes, maybe even remorseful. Puppy dog eyes like the ones he'd shown her the night they first met. She could see it. _Let him feel it._ It was only a fraction of what she'd been made to feel, what he'd made her feel.

A sob racked her even more forcefully, and her chest caved inward at what she'd just thought, because she didn't mean it. She didn't mean it. Not really.

She took a deep breath and let it out. Resentment was a real risk they were running. But she knew the true nature of his heart, and she'd be his defender until she let out her last breath. Even against himself, if need be.

In her mind she was taken back to an experience a few days ago, when in town with Isaac she'd looked up and suddenly been struck, smack in the face, with the image of Arthur gazing back at her. Her breath had caught.

**WANTED  
****$400 Reward, $500 if brought in alive**

Aside from his brow being woefully warped and distorted, pulled tight in a cruel arch, it had been a rendering so like him. She could hardly bring herself to believe he'd been so careless. She'd held her breath as she read the name of her baby's father. Her lover. Her Arthur. Or as it turned out, had he ever really been hers?

**ARTHUR MORGAN.  
****Known Alias: Arthur Callahan.  
****Known posse: The Van Der Linde gang.  
****Do not be deceived by their flowery claims of do-goodery and their odious lies of 'righting wrongs' in society. They themselves are a testament to everything broken and immoral in society.**

She'd swallowed and forced herself to continue reading.

**A member of the fledgling Van der Linde gang and a close associate of Dutch Van der Linde himself, this audacious and repugnant young criminal is wanted for heinous crimes across these United States, particularly the western regions. His crimes include numerous counts of bank robbery, theft of private property, rustling, public endangerment, inciting brawls, assault of law officers, and, at the time of this printing, four known counts of murder.**

She'd begun trembling, and found it difficult to restrain herself from making a scene. _You don't know him, _she'd thought. Isaac's favorite person. The one who'd held him so softly to his chest and soothed him from crying. _You don't know him. _Gentle, sweet, thoughtful, and caring. The only man she'd ever taken into her bed, the only man she'd ever let hold and kiss her. _You don't know him. _The only man she'd ever loved.

It had only been the one poster. She'd looked around and, closing her eyes tight, had quickly reached up and clenched her hand on it, crumpling it and bringing it into her bodice.

"You don't know him," she'd whispered before quickly stepping into the nearest alley with Isaac on her hip and bursting into tears.

As she sat there gently rocking in the chilly night air, she covered her face in her hands as the tears quietly ran down and made a pool in her palms. She'd forgotten what she'd promised herself at the beginning: that she wouldn't risk pushing him away by asking for more than what he could give.

He didn't love her. So maybe it was for the best, like he'd said. Maybe he really should stay away as much as possible, after all. But then again, she still wanted to believe that he could choose her and Isaac, and they could leave all this behind together.

She'd always love him. It didn't matter how he felt about her. And amidst all the noise and pain, there was still a quiet voice in the very back of her mind wanting to be heard, telling her he couldn't possibly be telling the truth. Telling her not to be deterred, to go on hoping. That he did love her, that he had to. That he'd left the flowers for her as a tentative, yearning whisper of a plea: _Don't give up on me_. That maybe in some sick, twisted way he was only lying to protect her, to protect them. That in this tug of war for the rest of his time, he truly was convinced he couldn't give it to them, and that lying was his way of attempting to put an end to the tug of war.

But the louder part of her mind was trying to drown it out, telling her it was the foolish, lovesick, naïve part of her, and that listening to it would only bring her more needless pain.

Poison. She knew he was. This whole situation. How she'd welcomed him in. How she would welcome him again. She'd traded losing him once for losing him over and over and over again.

The most caustic poison of all was how dearly Isaac, the crown jewel of her life, would pay for his parents' foolishness. He would never know the priceless blessing of having a father the way she had. He would never have Arthur as the wonderful father she knew he could be, wanted to be.

Sniffing, she finally rested her head back against the cabin and swallowed as the cruel night air bit at her arms.

_Two hearts in the fire we are, darlin,_ he'd written. _Always have been, haven't we, from the very first moment. And there ain't no way out._

There truly was no way out of this. Of this situation, this road. This love.

_Isaac._ The name of her precious son. The name of her father.

He used to say that she deserved to save herself and give herself only to someone who would love her with "impatient zeal"—someone for whom there was no one else, someone who simply could not stand to be apart from her. That only that man would gain his favor and blessing.

How very sorry her parents must be to look down at her from their place in the heavenlies now.

She sucked in a sudden, terrible breath at the thought. Her chest tensed and flooded with immense pain as her heart tore again in a way she could almost audibly hear. Her face crumpled as the tears streamed down her face. She raised a hand to her mouth, pressing her fingers tight against her lips. As she shut her eyes, the tears fell even faster.

"I'm so… I'm so sorry, Papa. Forgive me. Please, please forgive me."

* * *

I lit a fire with the love you left behind,  
and it burned wild and crept up the mountainside.  
I can't look out the window.  
I can't look at this place.  
.

All those times we looked up at the sky,  
looking out so far  
we felt like we could fly.  
And now I'm all alone in the dark of night.  
The moon is shining,  
but I can't see the light.  
.

I can't look at the stars,  
They make me wonder where you are.  
Stars, up on heaven's boulevard.  
And if I know you at all,  
I know you've gone too far.  
So I can't look at the stars.

\- Grace Potter, "Stars"

* * *

Three months later when she was on her hands and knees in front of the porch—after she'd become accustomed to the silence Isaac's voice had left, the silence Arthur's absence had left—Isaac suddenly rose from his spot on the porch with big eyes and rushed down the steps with his little arms out wide and a huge, unrestrained grin plastered on his face.

"_Ah-tur! Ah-tur!_" he squealed.

And she slowly stood and watched him. With both a loud gratefulness—that he was speaking, that he was all right, that her ears were hearing his voice even though it wasn't her name on his lips. And a quiet longing—that he would sound that way, look that way, for her, for someone who was always there for him, day in and day out. The two things somehow resided together peaceably in her heart.

As she followed him with her eyes to see Arthur lift their beaming son up into his arms and settle him on his hip with a grin, he looked up, and their eyes met. She noticed his smile slowly fade, the expression in his eyes growing forlorn and remorseful.

It was like she was stuck in molasses as she looked down and brought the couple sprigs of pink flowers she'd picked behind her skirt. But she couldn't have hurried herself if she'd tried. And she was still certain he'd seen them.

She swallowed past the pain in her throat and took a small breath, all it seemed she could manage these days, and turned to go into the house as the two of them followed her inside.

.

* * *

**Dearest sweetest Readers,**

**I want to make it clear that it's never been my intention to make Arthur out to be a villain or cold and unfeeling. On the contrary, I utterly adore him. And I truly believe that where he was coming from with regard to Isaac and Eliza was a place of selflessness, not selfishness. But I see that he has a lot of very human torment in him, even with high honor, and I wanted to explore that. One of my main goals has always been to understand him better.**

**Another major goal of mine has been to give life and voice to a couple souls in his life who I felt deserved it. To honor them. Even though this is just one possible way things could've happened, I feel I've done that.**

**And I realize that this work and this topic in particular will most likely never be very popular in the RDR2 community-if for no other reason than there is no way around the fact that it is truly tragic, depressing, and unchangeable. We as humans generally do not enjoy dwelling on tragedy, injustice, and death. So we tend to turn a blind eye to it, especially in our art and entertainment; it's completely understandable. But there's a time for everything. And we wouldn't have the beauty and depth of Arthur's redemption and growth if we weren't able to clue ourselves into the vast, unspeakable tragedies in his past.**

**At the same time, I've had ideas popping off in my head of a different (and even fun and sweet) nature. Though the next work will have some intensely difficult things before it gets better, it WILL get better! I sincerely hope you stick with me.**

**If you haven't read Part 2 of "Disaster Road," (the first work in this series), now is absolutely your time to do that! This work was a prequel to Part 2 of that work. The end of "Disaster Road" leads right up to the next work, and I will be picking up right after that chronologically. I'll give you a week to read that. Next weekend I'll be going right into the next work, posting at least the first chapter (it's ready!), maybe more.**

**Readers! Even though it's only the second work in a 3-work series, it feels like the end of an era. I've had so so much fun with you on this sweet journey. I told myself at the start that I'd do this for self-expression-to get out my thoughts, emotions, and appreciation for Arthur and the game. Because of that, my #1 goal has been to finish, no matter if no one read it or if it was read and hated. But I don't know if I would've gotten this far without you. I think I speak for most creators when I say it can be truly difficult, burdensome, and even painful to spend time, energy (sleep), and effort on something you're endlessly passionate about, only for it to be met with mostly crickets. And I'm keenly aware that my writing ability has improved (gone from kinda-bad to eh-so-so) since the start of this. So from the bottom of my heart, I'm grateful for you. Each of you who read, even if you don't comment, mean so much to me and are a true treasure.**

**[To my readers on FanFiction . net: I've had the thought that maybe I'll post the next and final work only on Ao3, because it seems to have garnered more traction there. And Ao3 seems to have a format more conducive to what and how I've been wanting to post. With all that said, it seems a little overkill to be posting each chapter twice. I don't like the idea of leaving the series unfinished anywhere. At the very same time, I realize it's entirely possible that I'm not talking to anyone right now, or at least not anyone who doesn't have access to Ao3. If you can only read here or truly prefer to read here, please pipe up!]**

**\- Rosie**


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